


Agents Provocatrice...

by Punk_in_Docs



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Agents, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Betrayal, Casino Royale Style Gambling, Enemies to Red Hot Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hot Sex, Italy, James Bond Inspired Work, Lovers to Friends, Missions, Partner Betrayal, Rescue Missions, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover Field Work, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, angsty ending, lift sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>004, 006, and 008 are the only three agents to posess a band 8 Agent rank. They are ruthless, cold blooded, merciless, heartless and exceedingly skilled Killers. And all are in the employ of Her Majesty’s Secret MI6 Service. The likelihood of meeting these three is rare, but if you do. You would not live long thereafter to remember the pleasure of having done so.</p><p>These men, and this woman, without contestation, are the defination of Agents Provocatrice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 006. Frost.

 

 

  

 

 **Agent Alias Name:** Vivienne Frost.

 **Agent Number:** 006

 **Agent Class:** Band 8

 **Real Name:** _Not Retrieved._

– Believed to be Lara Lockwood-Knight, but this is rumoured.

 **Family Information:** _None given._

 **Family Class:** Orphan

 **Highest Skillset:** Agent Provocateur.

 **Job Description:** Undercover Agent, and Intelligence Officer.

Also trained as an Information Retrieval Agent. Agent Provocateur.

 **Age:** 32

 **Height:** 5”11

 **Nationality:** British

 **Language(s):** British, Chinese, Serbian, Russian, French, German, Spanish, Mandarin, Korean, Egyptian, Arabic, Croatian, and Hungarian.

 **(Real) Hair** **Colour:** Red

 **(Real) Eye Colour:** Blue

 **Address:** Chesham Court Apartments, 17 Chesham Place, Apartment 6 and Penthouse, Belgravia, London, SW1X 8HJ. _(Last known listed given address)_

 

**Experience Proceeding MI6 Field Work:**

One of the top assassin's for infamous Russian Gangster group, the ‘Crimson Sabres.’ Under the Killer name, ‘Widow Maker’

Frost graduated from Russian Academy, Ironsgate Institution for young female spies with honours and an unprecedented GPA and Grades. Frost is said to have been placed in the orphanage/institution since birth, after death of both British Born retired Agent parents, holidaying in Moscow when assassinated, new-born left in Ironsgate Care, receiving many years of training graduating at the early and never before seen age of 17 to then become Russia’s top assassin.

Was traded to MI6 secret service eight years ago after Agent 004 was sent to assassinate Frost on a mission in Singapore. Subsequently, Frost declared not a national security breech by 004 after interrogation, and invited to work for MI6. Having accepted, has since set high scores in all fields for training Agents as a consequence. An asset to Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Receiving royal honours and a CBE. Also having been bestowed with honours from her superiors, and Sixth class honour rank for her years of loyal service.

 **Combat Skills:** _see below_

 **Trained in all of listed:** Urban Krav Maga, Rifle training, Archery, Brazilian Street fighting, Karate, Kung - Fu, Ancient Greek wrestling, Viking Combat, Russian Fist fighting, Fencing, Swordsmanship, hand gun training, bomb disposal and making, Hungarian fist and folk fighting, street combat, and hand-to hand army combat. Interrogation Training from Ironsgate Academy.

 **Code Name(s) Used when in Field Duty:** Lucky, Red, Widow, Frosty, Baron Ice Queen, Tricks, and Provocatrix.

 **(To date), Noted Missions for MI6:** Red Sea Surge, Operation Achilles Heel, The Brooker Travesty, Operation Brannigan, Budapest Massacre, and Operation Barricade.

Frost has also divided her time in between missions to be an undercover intelligence agent, and information retrieval officer in some of the worlds most infamous cartels, from Mexico, to Shanghai.

**Other Information:**

Frost is the single most elusive and mysterious female agent working for MI6. The only woman to hold such a successful rank across the division. She is fiercely loyal, and incredibly useful. Her skills and intelligence are far superior to any of those of her co-workers and she possesses great skill in combat and confidentiality in the field, when operating undercover. Her crafty, secretive, and precise, short tempered nature and ‘icy’ demeanour are often reported from her colleagues as being ruthless, is as to be expected from a woman of her past, and history. She retains few relationships outside or inside work, there is perhaps a fondness and degree of gratitude to 004.

But, There is more than meets the eye to Agent Frost, and the eye does not go wanting…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. 004. Williams.

 

 

 

       

 

  

 **Agent Alias Name:** Roscoe Williams

 **Agent Number:** 004

 **Agent Class:** Band 8

 **Real Name:**  Hal Walker

 **Family Information:** No Parent’s. One Brother.

 **Family Class:** Orphan.

 **Highest Skillset:** Sniper.

 **Job Description:** Undercover Agent, Information Retrieval and Weapons Trainer.

 **Age:** 34

 **Height:** 6”4

 **Nationality:** British.

 **Language(s):** British, Mandarin, Latvian, Chinese, Japanese, French, Egyptian, and Persian.

 **(Real) Hair** **Colour:** Brown/Auburn.

 **(Real) Eye Colour:** Blue.

 **Address:** Chelsea Bridge Apartments, Floor 24, Apartment 12, 124 Prince of Wales Drive, London, SW8 PBJ

 **Experience Procceding MI6 Field Work:** 004 was born into a wealthy London family, his father, a Banker, ignored him. And sent him to many expensive schools abroad. 004 flourished when his Father committed Suicide due to outstanding debts. Agent Williams was 13 at the time, and went to train abroad alone in China, leaving his family to their bankrupcy as he trained.004 Joined MI6 ten years ago, after graduating from a Martial Arts Academy, the most merciless Institution in all of china, Blackwater Seminary,trained in every known Martial art there is, and as such 004 is a Grandmaster in every one of those said arts. He studied under the legendary Chinese Assasin, Master Tzu Anguo. He took up freelance assasination as a sniper in the British Armed Forces for many years with the, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, making the rank of Sergeant Major, Warrant Officer First Class.

This was before his skills and rank elevated him to gain a position in MI6, as one of only three, then Band 8 Agents. He took to the position well, although had some family problems in terms of his Brother, Jackson Walker, heading the Romanian Drugs Cartel out of Serbia. Williams was tasked last year with assasinating his own brother, but the mission was incomplete when Walker was informed of the assasination, and fled to Russia. He has not been heard of since. And 004 was sanctioned for the failure of the mission after a MI6 tribunal. Aside from his tasked mission work, 004 also takes orders for Sniper Assasination Missions every now and then when commanded.

 **Combat Skills:** Boxing, Sniper Training, Mauy Thai, Sanshou, Hapkido, Judo, Sumo, Taekwondo, Brazillian Ju-Jitsu, Sambo, Ancient Egyptian Bare Wrestling and boxing, Fist Fighting, The ancient Russian art of Systema. Ancient Chinese art of Sun Tzu. Bomb Making, and disposal, and shows great aptitude for assasination via sniper. Also had Interrogation Training with Chinese Cartel.

 **Code Name(s) Used when in Field Duty:** Ros,Williams, His Royal Highness, Sergeant Major, Rossy, Hamlet, Romeo and Shakespeare.

 **(To date), Noted Missions for MI6:** Red Sea Surge, Operation Achilles Heel, The Brooker Travesty, Operation Brannigan, Operation cut-throat, Hungarian Embassy Operation, Singapore Hiest, Shanghai Roulette Hiest, Sydney Oil Disaster, Operation Taschen, Siege of Romania, Budapest Massacre, and Operation Barricade.

 **Other Information:** 004 is a very skilled, and highly loyal and obedient agent. He is the Agent best used for a silent and discreet skill, unlike that of his bombarding band 8 counterpart, 008. (see other file for more on 008)

Agent Williams is a fine agent, and has obeyed every order given to him, even when circumstances may seem dire, one may attribute this to his military styled upbringing. 004 is remarked among his peers to be highly professional and utterly exact. Whether this is in information retrieval, undercover work, field work, or assasination tasks. He is also said to sometimes be playful, and prone to weaknesses from time to time. These being a penchant for mercy and bargaining sometimes. As seen with him failing with the task of eliminating 006. His band 8 position was awarded for his years of loyal service, and as recently he has been more ruthless in his assasination and sniper tasks. He still keeps a close professional relationship with 006.

He is capable, brave, quick thinking and can often be remarked as being a little too cold-blooded. Otherwise, he is an exceptional Agent. With his diligence, he managed to crush all problems that stood in his way, to train to a point of perfection as a Sniper and Agent. This is what has made him into the man he is today. His quiet sarcasm and easy charm make him a heartless killer in hand to hand combat.

No one stands a chance if he is the man tasked to pull the trigger…

 

 

 

 


	3. 008. Hunter.

 

     

 

 

 **Agent Alias Name:** Rex Hunter.

 **Agent Number:** 008

 **Agent Class:** Band 8

 **Real Name:**  Charlie Day

 **Family Information:** None Given.

 **Family Class:** One Parent Still Believed to be Alive. His father was the next biggest east end gangster after the Krays. 

 **Highest Skillset:** Assassin and Criminal Tracker.

 **Job Description:** Undercover Agent, Information Retrieval, and on foot Assassin Tutor.

 **Age:** 34

 **Height:** 6”3

 **Nationality:** British.

 **Language(s):** British, Romanian, French, German, Hebrew, Portuguese, Mongolian, Estonian, Greek and Polish.

 **(Real) Hair** **Colour:** Brown/Black

 **(Real) Eye Colour:** Blue/Green.

 **Address:** Knight Frank House, Marylebone, 55 Bolsover Street, Marylebone, London, W1U 8EW _(Address last given to Administration)_

 **Experience Proceeding MI6 Field Work** : Agent Hunter was born into a wealthy east end family which had dealings with various crime groups across London. After completing early training with the secret service, he was posted abroad for a while with the CIA, and FBI to complete a few years disciplinary training on American soil, and passed with flying colours. Subsequently found his calling of on foot assassination and tracking after six years.

Where upon he returned to England, Hunter re-established his knowledge in east end connections and international relations in regards to the underworld of crime related to his fathers work, and made the post of band 8 Agent four years ago for his work as such as a less skilled Agent. Whilst 008 is a perfectly fine and skilled Agent, he has been known to have a weakness for the opposite sex when on undercover missions, and has received many disciplinary cautions for this trait. (also earning the code name ‘love-rat’ from 004 and other colleagues) He is charismatic, charming and persuasive on undercover missions when it is needed, which is a captivating advantage of his, this goes well with 006’s Agent Provocateur title, but, famously, Agent Frost has exclaimed her wish to put a bullet through his grinning skull on more than several occasions, according to 004. 006 and 008 do not get along well together. At all. He is currently on probation from his superiors, or he faces expulsion not only from his band 8 post, but from MI6 altogether.

 **Combat Skills:** Sniper Training, Rifle training, Interrogation Training in Middle East and Ukraine, Bare knuckle box fighting, wrestling, Krav Maga, Street combat, Urban Krav Maga, Russian Gutter ring Wrestling, received tracking and wilderness skills from the ruthless U.S Marines, trained for five years as a G4 plot with the US armed forces, CIA criminal tracking expertise. Weapons training with CIA masters.

 **Code Name(s) Used when in Field Duty:** Iron Scar, Hunter, Rex, Rexy, Fox, Love-Rat, and The Hunter.

 **(To date), Noted Missions for MI6:** Red Sea Surge, Operation Achilles Heel, The Brooker Travesty, Operation Brannigan, Operation cut-throat, Hungarian Embassy Operation, Singapore Heist, Shanghai Roulette Heist, Sydney Oil Disaster, Operation Taschen, Siege of Romania, Budapest Massacre, and Operation Barricade, aswell as Operation War-head in Mongolia. (partnered with 004 for most of these missions, and then 006 joining the two after her joining MI6 for a select few)

 **Other Information:** 008 is –without doubt - one of our best operatives, his knowledge and skill set is almost unprecedented in MI6 History. With such a rich heritage of CIA and FBI training that is unique to himself and all of MI6. The only disadvantage to this Agent is his fondness of female conquests on undercover missions, known as a die hard Ladies Man. As such, he is on a corrective and penalising system for this action (the first system to ever have to be introduced for a grown male band 8 agent) He is known, however, despite this, to perform his job to a near perfect degree. He gets along with his fellow Band 8 Agent, 004, Agent Williams. However, he has famously been known to great irk 006. Who has stated she would – begrudgingly – work with him on undercover missions, and information retrieval, but has expressed a fondness for exerting a great deal of violence upon 008.

With this being said however, the only thing that stands between him and expulsion from Her Majesty’s Secret Service, is the fact that he is, flaws aside, the most exceptional man at his job. His assassinations are swift and clean and without fuss. (but an with an over abundance of witty charisma – which is best left out of such things, but never is where 008 is concerned) His background of U.S training makes him unique to MI6, and there is no doubt that he is a most competent Agent.

Men wish to be his friend, and to be like him. And women – apart from 006 – flock to him. He gained new responsibilities and was becoming more cultured after his many experiences with the Marines. Having overcome plenty of obstacles to his job, he blossomed in a hard world. But with his diligence and cunning, there's nothing to stop him from accomplishing all of his goals. He could quickly become a true inspiration for many young clamouring Agents. He was born to be the best – yet worst - kind of skilled MI6 Agent. He is a ruthless killer when he seeks to be, and there is no where anyone on earth could hide, where this man would not find them. And it is understood on reliable authority that he would turn the entire world upside down to accomplish his tasked mission of finding a vigilante...

 

 Hunter by name, Hunter by nature...

 

 

 


	4. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work is just a taster for now, an idea that I had floating around in the back of my head. I need more works like a hole in the head (if you know my work at all, you'll know this fact already!) so if I get a good response and feedback, I shall continue it when I can. Hope it tickles your fancy. ENJOY! and I am also ashamed to say there will be no more updates on my behalf soon, I am away for a wedding this week. Always the Bridesmaid and that jazz..., who knows, maybe I'll get off with someone handsome? ;) here's to hoping....
> 
> \- much love from Le Punk in docs. x x x x x

 

 

 

 

 

~ Singapore, Eight Years Ago… ~

 

 

There was a man watching her from across the bar.

 

This was nothing new, She was used to this. _Every_ man watched her. They all did. And _why wouldn’t they?_

Every inch of her was beautifully stunning. She was tall, slender and slinky. Except she had a full bust and an wide ass that wouldn’t quit. She had tried for all thirty-three years of her life to rid herself of her cumbersome rear end. Alas, it would not go. She was stuck with it, it seems. Then again, stupid men who she was tasked to kill would fall prey to admiring her, so it turned out to be an _advantage_ in disguise after all.

Because she was, the most _stunning_ class of woman you would ever have the brief pleasure of seeing. You’d never meet her. She was far too nomadic for that. She was lucky to have grown into a relentlessly hourglass shape, which was made sexily evident in her fine evening dress. Her movements were sure and provocative, like the way in which a panther would slink about it’s cage. That was what you would think of when you set eyes upon this fine woman. Her skin was pale in contrast to the crimson lipstick she wore, and her hair was such a vivid shade of red, it instantly captivated everyone's eyes when she stepped into the room. Men went crazy wanting to admire her, and women were instantly jealous and intimidated because of her. With her short sleek bob of curled red hair that always looked flawless, blue eyes that the sight of which would strangle your lungs for air, and when she would cloak herself in a modestly revealing evening dress, and smile that captivating smile of hers at men, it was all they could do to not _throw_ themselves weak at her feet.

She was here, at the five star hotel, on a job. She had wandered down from her room to the bar half an hour ago. Master Volvakov had told her there was a rich oil mogul staying with his wife in one of the Presidential Suite’s. Her mission was a swift clean kill, and leaving the remains marked with her signature as a warning to his middle east counterparts who were giving the Crimson Sabre’s trouble in Libya.

It was habit for her to imbibe a sneaky stiff little drink before indulging in her kill. She felt good about this client and job. She had been surveying him, he went to sleep early, after taking sleeping tablets. It would be an effortless kill, she thought with a beautifully ruthless smile. She’d just have to sneak into his room, put a bullet through his brain with her Beretta Px4 Storm Subcompact, which was currently strapped to her thigh, then she would saunter into a nice hot bath in her Grand Suite to relax, and wind down from the adrenaline the job would give her. She never got caught, she was too good at what she did.

She had just placed her manicured hand down on the polished bar top, and the barman immediately flocked to her aid. She wanted a nice seductive strong slip before getting to work. She ordered a decadent and overtly sexy drink, a Fever. It _flew_ like a butterfly, but _stung_ like a bee, the scent floated across her nose with enchanting floral aromas thanks to the addition of lavender, as she lifted it to her lips and supped the perfect combination. Lemon and honey create a deceptive sweetness; but the gin kicked in soon enough. Leaving her with a kick that was like the afterglow of an orgasm from the world's finest lover. It left her a little breathless, and wanting more.

She dragged her tongue slowly across her upper lip, getting every drop of the drink off her crimson mouth. The barman swallowed, his knees more than a little weak, especially when she moaned seductively, licking her lips, placing the glass down again in front of her.

“Delicious.”

She thanked him in her smoky sexy voice, blinking her long lashes, and smiling at him so potently and stunningly in a way which meant he nearly stumbled over his own feet as he went to attend to another customer.

She grinned at that.

Men were such _easy_ creatures, all she had to do to get her way was flutter her eyelids, smile that winning smile, and angle her body towards them alluringly and they were always putty in her finely manicured hands after that.

Men never gave her _any_ trouble, but she gave them _plenty_. An abundance of it, in spades, she leered, wickedly, at that thought. As far as she was concerned, all a girl needed to be bad was the love of a no good man, and a concealed Beretta strapped to her thigh to feel _utterly alluring_.

She stood, leaning against the quiet bar, taking in the multiple languages that were bursting in chatter all around her in the room. Her bilingual ears picking up traces of each ones conversation. That was when she felt it. She could feel eyes burn into her bare back, that her backless dress flaunted to the room behind her. Her finger paused where it sat on the rim of the glass, her brow furrowing down so slightly.

She knew what it felt like to have eyes burn into you like they were preying on you. She had to deal with it every day due to men looking at her like they wanted to devour her.

She hadn’t taken a close look at who was in the bar when she entered. It was fitted into a little alove in the centre of the circled room, chairs dotted all about the walls, and a few placed in the middle on a fine Persian rug, some people were shrouded behind her by big fern plants and palm trees that hid them from view.

She closed her eyes, muttering to herself that she was a ‘ _durak’ an idiot,_ as Volvakov would often bark at her in harsh Russian, yelling when she got something even the slightest bit wrong during training. She should have been focused, and swept the room from the second she entered it. There was no discreet way of seeing who lurked behind her now.

She picked up her drink, sipping it again, letting her eyes slowly slide forwards, looking into the mirrors facing her on the opposite side of the bar, masked behind many bottles of liquor. Her blue eyes met the face of a man, half shrouded behind a palm tree, as he turned away from looking at her to sip his own tumbler of whiskey, two fingers, neat, she could see. He looked like a man who liked things neat, and powerful.

He was brutally handsome, she’d give him that. His jaw was as angled as could be, his prominent cheekbones nearly sliced his face in two. His hair was short and rusty red, and all across his mouth he had stubble that looked like it would scratch its bristly wonderful way across her skin, should he kiss her. He was finely dressed too, his long legged, well over six foot frame was kitted out in a fine tux. She decided he was the living embodiment of ‘a finely suited man is what woman’s lingerie is to men’ he looked positively reeking of elegance, danger and high class taste. And holy hell, was he sexy to boot. But the danger part is what piqued her interest.

He _suited_ danger rather well. _So well._ In fact. He had certainly wet her appetite.

He was armed too, she could tell, the way his jacket hung told her he had a handgun in a shoulder harness, a brand spanking new colt mustang, 12 ounce XSP. Her eyes slid lower on him. He had legs longer than a lamppost, and _my god,_ the way his trousers strained over his crotch also told her here, sat a _very_ well endowed man. _No mistake about it._

And he was armed too, now, _that. Was simply delicious._

He couldn’t doubt his attractiveness to her, either. God had been cruel upon the male race to serve them up this woman. She was _breath taking_. The second she had slunk slowly into the room, instantly his attention had been held to ransom by her looks. It was the hair he noticed first, red and coiled, curling into a loose 1940’s look halfway down her neck. And it was redder than _blood_ too. He _liked_ that. She looked every inch a scandalous killer. Crimson painted lips, and nails. Aswell as smoky dark eye shadow on her lids. She was a dark, formidable opponent, by the looks of her. And she was wearing Laboutins too, he could see the devil red soles, that went along wonderfully with her _‘come hither’_ eyes.

He had heard of her too, the so called ‘widow-maker’ of Ironsgate Institution, in Russia. Strict in the way they schooled and trained wannabe spies and assassins. And she was both. But what he had not been briefed on, was that she was so damnably attractive. Her dress was inherently sexy, long, black silk, clinging to her hips and her large ass that made him bite his lip as he watched it sway over to the bar. His eyes had drifted up her back then, watching as she ordered a drink, He eyed up her curves to find that they left him _starving_ , and suddenly, she made him remember it had been at least _six years_ since he had last indulged in sex. But he shook that off, eyes sliding up her sequin embellished black dress that was cut so low on her back, it was nearly indecent. He had got a good long look at her front too, the long slit up the side of her dress that made him _rather hungry_ after he glimpsed at her longer than long legs. She had legs like the Vegas strip, he wagered that they went on for _miles_ under that dress.

Her wide bust was bared nicely by the simple straps on her dress he thought, looping back over her arms, so the dress meant she was _barely_ dressed appropriately. He couldn’t decide if she had chosen to dress like that, or if it had been forced upon her. But as he watched her seductively sip her drink he decided that it was all her own design. This spectacle of pure sexiness.

He took a long swig of his drink as he thought about that. Watching after the wake of commotion she caused when she sauntered in. The single businessman three seats across from him had still not taken his eyes off her ass. He even felt a pang of jealousy at that. She was _his_ task. He saw a newlywed couple, burst into an argument as the groom was paying too much attention to this woman, rather than his own wife. And the barman looked ready to drool. _How pathetic._

He stood his drink down on the table beside him, having drained it. In a split second a waiter was by his side, asking if he wanted another. It was fine whiskey, he was certainly tempted, but, he was on duty. He had a job to do. He waved him off, brusquely declining. Watching his _prey_.

She had nearly finished her drink too. Still sensing that the strangers eyes still clung to her as if she was the only other person in the room. Eyes sliding all over her in a heated way. She licked her lips, daring to look up again to see his eyes looked at hers without fear now. She could see the cold calculated hardness in his gaze as his eyes locked with hers. That glance set a wave of prickled hotness to sweep uncomfortably through her. She exhaled loudly at that, sliding her glass back across the bar to the barman, giving him a sweet smile, declining when he asked if she wanted a second drink.

At that point, she looked up at the clock above the bar that read a quarter past nine, the mogul would doubtless be in bed now. Time to get to work, she supposed. It was at this point, also, that Volvakov’s raspy Russian voice barked into her ear via the earpiece

_“Sdelat' rabotu, krasnyy..”_

He barked in a biting tone. Using her nickname. To order out a clipped shout of ‘Do the Job, Red.’ to her. and it was not a command she could disobey, she had _to kill,_ or she’d _be killed._

She inhaled a deep breath, sliding out a few Malaysian Ringgit's across the polished top. Feeling a twitch of nervousness tug at the pit of her stomach. She was all well and acclimatised to carrying out a kill, she was just wary of what trouble the brutally handsome armed stranger would bring her. But then she paused, she did always relish a challenge…

She made sure he was watching, doing this by snapping her clutch bag shut, and licking her lips. Seeing the mystery man frowned lightly at that, was she baiting him? _Oh, yes she was._ When she was certain he was staring intently in her direction, she used the busy cover of a new group of people rowdily entering the room, heading for the bar, to move. She clung to them, using them as cover as she scattered quickly from the room. Which worked, he grit his teeth, cursing the damned woman as he saw nothing but the trailing train of her dress as she stalked quickly off into the Lobby.

He steadily, but swiftly, rose to his feet and buttoned up his jacket. Glaring intently at the doorway after the minx of a woman he was tasked with interrogating had just slid out of. He made his striding and fast way after her. Hoping he didn’t loose her. He rounded out of the bar coming to the lobby, seeing that flash of _that_ red hair streak across the crowds across the hotel, shimmying her slender way up the grand imperial staircase that led to the lifts to the Presidential suites.

So _she was_ after the oil mogul after all. She _was_ the infamous assassin from Crimson Sabre.

 _Pity. H_ e thought, as he stared at her peachy ass as she descended the stairs up ahead of him. _He rather enjoyed the sight of her, what a shame it was that he was the one tasked to kill her._

He strode quickly up the steps thanks to his legs, and made a sharp right, coming to the private lifts that only led to the most expensive suites in the hotel. One of which, the mogul was occupying. He had lost sight of her, but had no doubt she had rounded the sharp hallway corner to the lifts, well ahead of him.

The lifts also had their own private security team. Which had been no hassle to her, clearly. As he got to the desk, crossing past it, he saw that two security guards were slumped over. One with a small knife wound in his back, lay unmoving sat at the podium. The other, was unconscious on the floor. Eyes glassy and head twisted at an odd angle that instantly told him she had broken the mans neck.

He chuckled, scoffing. Dare he say, but he was slightly impressed. She had managed to disarm and quiet them all in under _a minute_. That, _was impressive_. Even for an assassin.

He slid past the two dead guards and continued, knowing he was headed in the right direction, as he could smell the inviting scent of a sweet perfume, lingering on the air. _Her perfume_ , he smiled to that.

He rounded the corner, coming into sight of her again, seeing how she walked calmy and coolly across to the lifts along the narrow corridor. Pausing as she came to the two silver doors at the end, pressing the button and waiting.

But she wasn’t waiting in anticipation for _the lift_ , _she noted._

She could tell he was _behind_ her.

One, because she had seem him trail after her from all the way across the lobby. Being so obviously direct. And then, just now, she had caught sight of his lean muscled reflection as he stalked down the hallway after her.

She tilted her head high, keeping her chin parallel with the ground. Trying not to let him know she had a small dagger, hidden concealed in her ample cleavage, now pulled out, and ready to make use of, as she had done to the guard.

 _Shame. He was so handsome_ , she admitted to herself, _she’d have loved to have be the one to let him live…_

He was so close now, he could see the muscles in her back twitch as she moved her hands to the front of her. And he could see every detailed sequin embellish her dress. Glinting in the light as she stood still. He could detect her scent even more now, and she was all hot skin, designer perfume that made his mouth water, and his stomach clench tight in anticipation. She really was sexy from head to toe, especially from up close. A pure dynamite vodka shot of a woman.

His groin ached in all the may ways he could think to _have_ her in _. Under_ him, _by his side_ , _on top_ of him. It was giving him a semi just thinking of it.

He stalked ever closer, so close now she could feel the air shift as hs body came close to her, his scent washing over her.

She then felt her skin prickle in awareness as his lips swerved close to her ear, she tingled at the way his breath washed and warmed her skin in a rush of whiskey scented breath. And his voice was all rasp and sex, too, she thought. Husky and delightful. He even spoke Russian, she noted, wryly.

“Podnimayas', dorogaya?” He asked her.

'Going Up, Darling?'

The lift doors pinged open with a soft bell sound. And she took that as the starting sound of round one…

He barely had time to dodge out of the path, as she sprung round, swinging her arm in an arc, intending to plunge the knife in his gut and kick him away. Leave him slumped and bleeding on the ground as she completed the mission. Knowing she had beaten him.

She was _fast_ as a cat he’d grant her, but he was _prepared_.

His hand caught her wrist, and threw her arm back, plunging her whole body backwards into the lift, so she had to brace herself sharply against the mirrored glass a she was thrown into it by his brute force, hand going to the rail as she gasped. In a split second, he had used his time wisely to weaken her. She had just enough seconds to pull her Beretta from the inside of her thigh…

Her dagger clattered to the floor, and she watched in horror as it was then trapped under the expensive looking heel of his black brogue shoe before she could bend down to grasp it. She grit her teeth. Looking ahead at him, seeing he was mirroring her position with his colt. One hand grasping the trigger as he pointed it straight at her chest. Exactly the same way in which she was aiming her little handgun at his chest. But he towered over her, so her aim went up, and his slanted down at her. She must’ve been 5”10 at a guess, he thought. And he smiled, wryly as he towered down over her.

He was getting sloppy, he thought, if he had allowed time for her to slide the Beretta out from her thighs. Of which were bared _so nicely_ by the slit in the dress, and her now rumpled state as he shoved her back into the lift. Of which they were both enclosed in now as the doors shut and it began its climb.

“Polozhit' pistolet.” (Put the Gun Down)

He ordered with a sneer, looking down at her with amused pride.

“Ty pervyy…” (You First) She insisted. He chuckled at that.

“Vy govorite po-angliyski?” (You speak English?)

He asked her, kicking the knife back behind him, out of her reach, stepping in front of it, cornering her in the lift, his colt leering closer to her chest.

“Of course I speak english, I’d be a useless international assassin otherwise.”

She offered in her terse smoky tone, that was still sharp and foreboding, even minus the harsh severity of the Russian words.

“Good. Means I don’t have to exhaust my brain on finding all those correct Russian verbs..”

He grinned. Leaning off to the side, latching down the emergency lever under all the floor buttons. The lift shuddered and jolted to a stop. Suspending them between floors 15 and 16.

She lowered her Beretta as he stalked closer, watching him from under those long dark lashes and through her silkily blue eyes. A stray coil of curled hair having come loose, sticking to her cheek. His hand itched to brush it back. She ignored the sexual tension that fizzled low in the air. But _he wasn’t._ She watched as he very obviously let his eyes slide up the length of her entire body, lingering on her breasts and hips for a second longer than necessary.

“Who are you?”

She asked, narrowing her eyes at him, taking in the long length of him under his ash grey suit, watching as that jaw of his looked even more alluring to touch under the stark light of the spotlights in the lift. And his trimmed regimented stubble bristled as he leered down at her.

“Ladies First.”

He insisted. Grinning. And he looked like a man who stuck to that motto.

“No one important.” She tried to brush off.

“Just ‘Widow-maker’ the most infamous Russian Assassin in all of Europe, the most wanted in all three continents. And a student of Ironsgate Academy, the most notorious school for spies and assassins in the whole world. ” He offered.

“You’re an Agent.”

She remarked with little humour, her body going stiff as his fingers reached over to softly brush her hair from her cheek. He had soft hands, this calloused and calculating British man.

“Good guess, darling.”

He congratulated, stepping even closer. She exhaled at that, trying not to stare at his lips. She licked her own, watching as he stared her crimson mouth down because of it.

“I am actually here, having been tasked with the mission to kill you.” He explained.

“That would be terribly ambitious of you.” She growled.

“I’m a terribly ambitious kind of man..”

He fought back.

 _Because I don’t want to kill you. I want to shag you. I know I’m supposed to eliminate you, but that is rather low on the list of things I want to do to your body right now.._ He thought to himself.

She was trying so hard not to pant now as he leaned closer, his eyes meeting and holding her own, as his hand skimmed down her arm and took the Beretta in his grip, prying it from her nimble hooked fingers. She let it go, swallowing in lust, and letting out a shaky breath as his lips twisted so his head tilted sideways into the crook of her neck. Inches away from her hot skin, he could _see_ her pulse thrum wildly. She could feel the harsh scrape of his bristled stubble scratch her skin. He was so close.

“Forgive me, but if a man like you wanted me dead. What’s holding you back?” She asked.

“ _You._ ” He purred.

“If a man like me, wanted you dead, as you so claim. Then you’d have been dead as soon as I laid eyes on you, darling. But I, want something _else_ from you entirely….”

He explained, his hand coming up to stroke the curve of the path that led down from her waist to her hip. She looked shaky, and nervous. She was only like that because real sex, when it came to it, was harder for her. Sex was her only weapon.

He chuckled into her ear.

“Don’t tell me a woman of your calibre is nervous when it comes to sex. My dear.” He rumbled in laughter.

“… everything _about_ you, simply _exudes, sex_ …”

He explained, nuzzling into her neck. He knew he should obey orders, but six years was an _awful long_ time to go without a shag, And here they were, pressed together somewhere private, miles away from his responsibilities and tasks. And he _wanted_ her.

His hands slowly moved to tuck his colt back in his shoulder holster, and hiding her little Beretta in his jacket pocket

“I have a job to do.” She bit out.

“So do I. It involves you, me, a locked room, a bed. No clothes and a great amount of great _fucking._.”

She opened her mouth, but for once, no words came out.

“I take it, from your dilated eyes and shaky breath, that I do have your permission to fuck you?”

He asked, placing one hot kiss to her neck as she whimpered.

She was loving the way dirty words fell from his lips. And she had never been more turned on in all her life.

“…And I also know that your little ruski friend can hear every word of what I have said…”

He leered into her ear, seeing the piece she wore which was a communication device.

The next words which flew out in a hot whisper from her lips was her permission for this man to take her and have her. She was weak for doing it, but she couldn’t resist him, that much she knew.

“ _Vdova byla skomprometirovana..”_ She breathed, panting. Saying in easy Russian that  _‘Widow has been compromised…”_

  Hushing in a hot whisper. Hearing Volvakov go spare in her earpiece. Barking and cursing something in angered Russian.

She pulled it from her ear and chucked it to the floor away from them. That was her permission for him. And he would fuck her _hard_ for that move…

She managed to pant out one breath before his hands came up to cup her face, and he growled into her mouth, hoisting her lithe frame up into his arms as he kissed her savagely. Pressing her back to the mirrored glass and drawing her dress out from under her, cupping and feeling her ass in his big hands as he took her breath away with his kiss, making her arch into him, as they heard both her heels clatter off her feet to the floor, she moaned as he had managed to find her without any undergarments on, and his long adroit fingers slid into her sopping cunt. Curling so deep she saw stars.

“Someone’s dripping wet for me..”

He growled into her ear before he took it between his teeth, biting, doing the same all down her neck.

She did nothing but moan and smile into his embrace as his hand fiddled with his fly for a second before she felt him replace his fingers with something twice the length, girth and which felt amazing, making her scream when he slid inside herdripping velvet folds, pounding into her, all the way to the hilt. She gaspen in pain and pleasure at his size. It feel like he was tearing her open, he was so thick. 

He grinned into her ear, grunting at her wet tight heat as he began to thrust and she began to scream…

“Roscoe Williams is the name, and you were right. I'm an MI6 Agent.”

He panted. Seeing those blue eyes look dark with lust as she bit her lip for him.

“Why are you telling me now?” She rasped.

“I figured you’ll need something to scream sooner or later…” He purred, biting her collarbone.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Golden

 

 

 

 

 

 

~ London, The Present Day ~

 

It was a typical October’s evening in London. Where the sky and city seemed to mash into each other in a mash of chowder grey sky, and the huge leering grey skyscrapers that built the horizon bit into the sky like a row of uneven and jagged teeth. The climate was cold, and unrelentingly miserable, which is what the people of London also felt like. No-one wanted to face the weather, they all longed for better warmer days that they knew they would not get. As such, when night came, it was a groggy and morose as the chowder grey skies of the overcast day had been. The clouds now saw fit to keep slobbering fine showers of light rain down upon the city and its people. It had stopped now, but made sure that no pavement, car or building wasn’t left without spatters and speckles of rainwater beading its shimmery cloak on every surface.

However, despite the weathers brutish determination to be wretched, and perfectly glum. This did not stop people going about their business as per usual. Londoner’s knew better than to be put off by a slight shower of rain. The gun ho’ bulldog spirit of England rang true in this respect. And as such, a sleek dark Mercedes with fully tinted windows and a completely ominous number plate cut a swathe through the traffic of the late evening, turning down old park lane, heading for the Park Lane Hotel in Mayfair, the expensive and elegant hotel a stones throw away from Buckingham Palace, and located no more than five minutes from Bond Street’s most expensive boutiques.

The dark foreboding car powered down the quiet little street, lined with cars and rows of pristinely elegant marble white townhouses, standing tall and proud like a battalion of white coated troops. Battling on through the harsh cold severity of the dreary London night. Like an elegant panther, the car roared its suave plane noiselessly down the street, gliding to a graceful stop once it reached the glittering, brightly lit entrance of the Hotel Foyer, Lined with manicured trees, luggage trolleys and numerous black coated bell boys and doormen, who rushed to peoples aid like well trained dogs on their best behaviour, and serving to attention at everyone's beck and call. As the car, and the anonymous driver effortlessly delivered the goods within, to its destination.

Or should it be, to _her_ destination.

The bell-boy who opened the car door, standing the other side of it to let the passenger pass, saw nothing at first. But then, _oh then_ , there came a golden heeled foot, which was attached to a shapely pale leg, swam into his vision. This caused the young man to gulp and raise a brow. If the rest of her was as attractive as her foot, then he was in for real trouble. His eyes couldn’t help but slide up the curved stretch that was this mystery beauty’s long leg, as more of her emerged from the dark safe cocoon of the car... He was _definitely_ in for some trouble.

Because she was a flawless _goddess of a woman_. If looks could kill, then every man in the world would be doomed to an ill fate because of this woman.

Beyond her leg, bared by the modest slit in her golden chiffon skirts, bedecked with glittering golden jewels that made her look expensive, untouchable, and unstoppable. He gulped, again, seeing the pale slice of her thigh wink its pale silk softness as him before both her legs surfaced out of the car, her skirts shifting to slide down over her as she raised herself to move her upper half out. An obedient colleague of his, rushed to her side, instantly taking her hand to help her pick her fine way onto the red carpet that stretched out to meet her, the hotel front awning tucking her away from the possibility of another shower of rain.

He nearly waves goodbye to his polite decorum, wanting to thump the colleague who was _so lucky_ as to take her hand. And as the rest of her body came into view, he fought, _hard,_ to snap his hanging mouth shut. Up from her pale curvaceous thighs, there lay a set of hips which could slaughter someone, they were so virile, from there, her body tapered away into a slim waist, which only led way for her bust to flare out again in odes to her large and sizeable mouth watering breasts, hidden under the golden finery of her dress Which now slunk all the way fully down her legs to pool at her feet, and as she stood, she sent the both of them a smouldering blue eyed look, a wink, and a sizzling smile that left them both quite stupid.

“Cheers boys.”

She flirted, in a stony cold british accent, but with a teasing smile, before she sauntered up the carpet, away from the car and into the hotel.

Her facial features were like the final nails in the coffin to these poor boys...

She was armed with a full set of red lipsticked lips curved to form her perfectly white toothed smile that was more at home on toothpaste adverts. Her fine pale cheeks sliced in two with a killer set of cheekbones that made her sharply pretty, dusted with barely any blush to bring them out. And the gold that shimmered around her eyes, and her long lashes only served to make her very blue eyes all the more enchanting. Like two twin hypnotizing pools of sapphire luxury. Because of the extravagance of her dress, and her beauty, she needed no decoarations by way of necklaces, or earrings. And her dirty yet buttery coloured blonde hair was tugged back from her face in a messy carefree dishevelled way, but to which still made her look polished and preened.

They were unable to not watch her mile long legs stride sexily away and sway her beautiful body further from them both, the fabric of her dress swinging in swathes of golden chiffon as her gorgeous ass waved side to side. What made her all the more sexy was how the back of her dress was completely non-existent. There was nothing but the large collar the fastened the golden goddess like dress to her body at the back of her neck, fine golden chains ribboning in gathered balconies across her neck and beck.

Her beauty made her flawless, but the dress made her _dangerous_. A weapon.

As she moved away from them, knowing she had robbed the both of them of their hearts and sense, and when she left there was nothing but the empty aching space where she had been stood left as the reminder of her. That, and the mouth watering scent of her body and perfume, and the memory of her striking beauty loitering around in the air as if she was still there. At a harsh bark from their superior they stopped gawping after her and drifted back down to the banality of earth, and their jobs.

Men and women alike watched from inside the hotel as the ravishing creature, bedecked in gold, picked her lithe and nimble way through the polished and elegant foyer. Eyes follow her where-ever she goes. It’s just the normal way of things for her. She knows where she is going to, the big event which she was decked out to the nines for, was being held in the Silver Gallery. One of the most flawless Deco Ballrooms in all of London. Had she more time, she’d stop to savour it. But as it was, for her, the clock was ticking. And work was beckoning.

“Best get to it.” She thinks to herself. As she comes to the packed crowds of the spacious ballroom ahead of her. Lining the doors are two coated and tailed waiters smiling at her, standing resolute and holding silver trays bursting with tulip shaped glasses of expensive taupe champagne. A _fine_ establishment, she remarked, meant _fine champagne_.

She plucks one into her golden manicured grasp, bearing a sweet silent smile as a thank you to the staff. Before she tips the tulip domed glass to her lips, allowing herself a sip of the crisp fruity bubbles to tingle and slide easily down her throat. She lets the tangy taste of it roll seductively across her tongue as she moves down the steps that lead into the room. Scanning it to find the numerous faces she knew and studied. She may have looked slight and inconsequential. But underneath her warm and frail beautifully dainty exterior - which was all put on for show - she was as calculated and as cold as they came.

Those soft blue eyes took in everything the room had to offer her. All the dignitaries, all the politicians, millionaires, and businessmen. Some flanked respectively by their formally attired wives, and some with some desperate money hungry, surgically altered bimbo’s hanging off their arms.

The shape of the room meant she couldn’t quite view everyone who was housed in it. The dome shaped ceiling made the room circular, but steps led away from the room into another circular room which had the bar, and a lounge tucked away into it. In the centre of the one she now looked down into, steps layered down into the middle, and pillars of marble and giant plants hid some people from view. But as she had just walked in, two of the numerous faces she knew very well were able to clock her. And once she was certain that she was safely distanced from any groups of people, or anyone wandering by her, she was obeying protocol again, and kick starting the operation into action.

“Red Fox, Checking in.”

She spoke quietly, hand going to her ear to fiddle inconspicuously with her earpiece. To anyone around her, it looked as if she was simply toying with her hair. She was a natural after all.

A slight chuckle reverberated in her ear, and she sipped more champagne as her colleague spoke up. He too standing somewhere in the room ahead of her, eyes staring her down from his hiding spot as she entered.

“Hamlet. Checking in. Never took you for a _dirty_ blonde, 006.”

Came a wry chuckle from Williams into her ear.

“There are many things you shouldn’t take me for, 004. Granted, being one of them.”

She muttered, smiling, as she ducked out of the way of the mingling crowds. She listened again as that dark, throaty ‘ehehehe’ chuckle of his sprung into her ears.

“I would _never dare_ , 006.” He flirted.

“If you two have quite finished making verbal love to each other, now. Can we get on with this mission….Hunter, Checking in.”

Came a dry unamused drawl from 008.

“So nice of you to join us, at last, 008. Now let me guess, you were far to preoccupied hiding away in some corner, and sliding your hand up some easy woman's dress, now, weren’t you?”

She asked. Hearing 004 snort with laughter, and hearing nothing but silence from 008.

But she did hear him sigh. Angrily. That made her smile.

“Late again? Frost? Or were you busy trying to convince the Wizard of Oz to give you a heart again? _Hm?_ One that’s not made solely of _ice._..” 008 snapped.

“We have no time for one of your sparring matches...”

004 interjected snippily. Rolling his eyes at his two fellow agents, watching as the people in front of him that he was keeping a beady eye on, from behind the safety of a marble column, clasped each other in a welcoming hug, shaking hands and laughing.

“The bulldog has landed.” 004 warned. Still watching them.

“Is ‘Eyepatch’ alone?” 006 asked wisely.

Williams scanned over the beefy mobster who they had all been briefed to interrogate, his name was Winston ‘Eyepatch’ Hodgkin's. A notorious East End Gangster who had recently been flagged by MI6 surveillance for doing shady underhand deals with an anonymous outreach of a well known Russian assassin group. The surveillance picked up intelligence that Eyepatch had loaned the group, more than £1.5 million pounds, in exchange for them then supplying Eyepatch with more than £2 million pounds worth of Illegal Russian arms, possibly even nuclear weapons.

Their brief, Tonight, was to interrogate the highly elusive ‘Eyepatch’ and seize the weapons loaned to him via the Russian group. And as he was a notoriously difficult man to pin down. Heath, Head of Operations at MI6, had tasked all three agents to the benefit gala tonight to fulfill their brief. Plus, any money donated from politicians and dignitaries here tonight would be seized before Eyepatch could put it to dangerous use.

004 scanned the two beefy hench men stood like hulking twin statues by Eyepatche’s side, dressed in stark black, and who both looked like two muscled gorillas who someone had shaved and taught to behave like humans. They were tall and both built like a brick shithouse, muscles barely contained by the cut of their flimsy suits. As if any minute, all they’d have to do is flex their muscles and their clothes would burst from their skin like the incredible hulk. The two of the bald men flanked the already beefy mobster who they were all here to interrogate.

Well, _all_ was a bit of a stretch.

008 and 006 were there to lend assistance and firepower to 006. Eyepatch was known to have a wandering eye when it came to beautiful women. – Hence why 006 was so valuable to this mission - And in regards to his wandering eye, it was a most literal sense.

In odes to his name, a black Eyepatch crossed his face in stark colour to shield his left eye from the world, the other, was the rusty brown colour of a dried patch of blood. Rumour was his rival gang in the east end tried to kill him, via trying to take out his eye with a meat hook. They weren’t successful. And rumour was, those who tried it, now wore concrete shoes and were at the bottom of the Thames.

Winston ‘Eyepatch’ Hodgkin's was what you’d expect from a London Gangster, a true blood and flesh cockney geezer. His belly was a large sagging beer gut, and he had on an appallingly 70’s white suit and pink and black flowered Hawaiian print shirt stretched to burst over it, a gold chain laid thick about his flabby neck, and his red crocodile skin shoes were so polished and pointed, he’d never need a mirror. His skin was tanned clementine orange from some recent holiday, and his grey hair slicked back with oil. When he leered his guffawing laughter, there was one tooth missing from his upper jaw, replaced with a wedge of gold that caught the light when he laughed. He looked his age, his face scarred and marked as old, gnarled and meaty. With fingers like fat sausages and a puffy double chin hanging down from his jaw. Here was an aged and powerful cockney geezer, make no mistake about it. Even still, this ancient old gangster, still fancied himself a ladies man, and kept company with the most expensive cat houses and strip clubs in London

004 watched as Eyepatch finished embracing his friend, smiling as he talked animatedly to his colleague. A small gaggle of men walked past him, and Hodgkin's eye roved over the behind of a trashy looking brunette who hung daintily off the arm of a foreign dignitary. Watching her silicone enhanced ass sway about obviously under her dress.

“Negative.” 004 confirmed.

“Flanked by two bouncers as per usual…” He remarked.

“004, what is your location, If I can bait Eyepatch, I should be able to get him alone.”

006 added, placing her empty glass down on a passing waiters tray, grabbing another.

“No. wait until he has finished. He’s just talking to the Ambassador of Luxembourg. My location is south east from the lounge. Make your way slowly 006. One false advance could look suspicious to him, and blow our entire cover.”

He instructed, still keeping his eyes on Eyepatch. One suspicious move from Frost preying on Eyepatch could jeopardize the whole mission.

006 began to walk across, again, causing men and women's eyes alike to watch her as she made her slender charming way through the ballroom. Listening to the chatter and talk erupt around her in many languages as she cut a slow steady swathe through it. And she could translate and recognize them all. She raised her second glass to her lips and sipped it.

“Getting sloshed on the job, 006, is that entirely _ethical_?”

Came a silky voice, but it didn’t come from her ear. It came from behind her as she moved further to advance into the room.

Her stomach dropped and she groaned internally as 008 slunk out of the fringes of crowds, and sauntered up to her, smirking at her displeasure. He loved how she glared icy daggers at him through her cornflower blue eyes, especially when his eyes made a big show of slowly scanning her up and down as he circled her.

He looked as flawless as he always did tonight too, kitted out in Saville Row’s finest navy coloured suit, with a crisp pressed white shirt and a black tie knotted about his neck. She hated the way he slouched too, his arrogant swaggering confidence that showed off he knew he was brilliant and good at his job. His hair was his usual fop of styled black curls, dishevelled on his head like he had recently had a woman's hands run through it. A cocky aura of pleasure radiated outwards from his lidded colour shifting eyes, today, she noted they were a stormy green, and his thick cupids bow smile crinkled wide, baring his straight set of pearly teeth, in how much he could rile up his colleague just by _coming near_ her. He had one hand in his pocket as he circled her like a shark, or a waiting vulture, his other hand held a tumbler of something resembling whiskey in his hand, steeling the glass in his thin fingers, dwarfing the thing in his large grip. Even the way he moved _reeked_ of his overinflated sense of self-importance.

 _She hated_ him.

She hated him with _every fibre_ of her being.

And if she didn’t have to cooperate or work with him, then she swore to herself that she’d have rid the world of this good for nothing cad, and placed a bullet through his brain _long_ ago.

006 sighed in exasperation.

“Not ethical no, but a necessity when I have a hulking _great git_ like you as a co-worker..” She bit off snippily.

“ _Temper, Temper_..”

He cooed flirtily into her ear, his breath was hot and rolled over her bare shoulder. He smelled of whiskey, and musk and… trashy ladies perfume. They’d not been here half an hour, and already he had managed to _snare_ one of the many hussy's who floated about the ballroom.

She recoiled. Wincing as he got close to her.

“I rather _like_ you blonde, 006, brings to mind a easier women to conquer.”

“In your dreams, 008.”

“ _Oh,_ I most sincerely hope so…” He purred.

“I imagine that in my dreams you’d act out far more pleasant things. And there's always the guarantee of a _naked_ and _happy_ ending…” He smiled lecherously.

“Why? Couldn’t you keep the harpy who left her shitty smelling perfume on your suit satisfied long enough?” She asked.

“Dissatisfaction is not a word in my vocabulary..” He smirked winningly.

She quirked one perfectly arched brow at him in disbelief, face resolute and stiff. Still glaring spears at him.

“Is Dignity?”

She asked, going to move past him. His shoulder barging into her path blocked her.

“I don’t know. Is ‘sentiment’ one which appears in yours?”

“I’m not going to be dressed down about sentiment by a man who has lipstick on his collar, and who spent his time on the job playing tonsil tennis with some extension wearing, surgically enhanced slag..” She informed, weaving past him again.

“Shame. I’d dearly adore to give you a good dressing down. Maybe I could even knock that red hot poker out of your ramrodded backside.” He snarled.

She had to clench her fists, and remind herself not to reach for her trusty Beretta that was tucked safely away between her thighs in a garter holster. Old habits die hard, she supposed. She couldn't risk blowing her cover...

“And besides, She came onto me. The girlfriend of the Middle Eastern oil mogul. He doesn’t appreciate her…. many skills. But I don’t know, I think I could better show her how skilful she can be….”

As he spoke, leaning close to Frost, he looked off in the direction across the ballroom in which the ‘woman’ in question could be seen. She had an ass that had been helped along by silicone implants, and a dress that barely stretched beyond bits of red thread holding the scantily clad thing in place on her body. Her hair was black and curled, and Frost just knew a handful at the back could easily be pulled out. (extensions) and when she turned to the side, she had bee sting lips and breasts that she had paid good money for. She looked like a slutty, fake and cheap conquest.

“All I can see is plastic, plastic, plastic, someone else's money and a slutty dress.” She bit out.

“Well, I’m trying to get a blonde in a gold dress to go home with me, but she’s not taking the bait.” He offered, leering.

“Your overestimate your power over women, 008 Those of us who have more than one functioning brain cell prefer someone whose not quite as much of an arrogant prick…”

She smiled, snatching herself away from him.

“A sharp blow my lady. Then again, you’d know all about those, wouldn’t you?” He spoke after she slipped away.

“ _DO shut up_ , 008.” She snapped.

“You took your time..”

004 remarked as she came into view. His eyes were a lot less obvious in the way they scanned her up and down. Starting at her ass, flicking up her bare back, and resting on the stunning severity on the beauty of her gold dress. The Blonde hair was a _nice_ touch. Eyepatch was known to favour blondes…

“Got caught up.” She explained tersely to 004.

“Some arrogant wankers just don’t know when to quit…”

She added, grinning, knowing 008 had heard her.

“Yeah, I got distracted too, some ice baron bitch really needs to learn she’s not all that..” 008 growled.

004 rolled his eyes, again. _It was like working with two children…_

That was before he saw that The Ambassador of Luxembourg, a portly red faced man, shuffle away with his wife. Leaving Eyepatch stood scanning about the room, chucking back the remnants of his martini in his cocktail glass. 004 smirked wryly to himself, this old geezer really was of another time, the 70’s perhaps. Who drunk martinis anymore?

“Red Fox. You have target, Move in.”

004 commanded, giving her the all clear to set their well rehearsed plan in motion. 004 watched with glee, as it worked beautifully.

Eyepatch heard her, before he saw her. It was the heels he heard, those golden shimmering Laboutins on her feet, with devil red soles, slowly clacking their way past him. And then the woman came into view, and, oh my, what a woman she was. His eyes started at her finely manicured golden toes, housed in her flawless golden heels, from there, sliding up, all the way up her longer than lamp post legs, up to her hips, which were wide and sinful, and he could only imagine that they made way for a large, perfectly rounded peachy ass, then he eyes up her trim waist and full breasts, before coming to rest on the proverbial cherry on top of the cake. She was a stunner to look at from the neck up, too. Pretty blue eyes, and a winner takes all, pearly white smile. She wore a glittering golden dress that led the eye up the long curve of her body, it was sheer and delectably indecent, yet she managed to be so modest at the same time.

He licked his lips looking at this beautiful blonde woman who genteelly picked her way past him. He _loved_ a good blonde. And he wagered he could love the living daylights out of her… She watched as she stopped, surveying an expensive oil painting that clung to the wall by where she walked. As she put her back to him, and sipped more champagne, the backless cut of her dress, showing off her naked back, nearly made him perish.

“Hook, line, sinker… 006..”

004 congratulated with a smile. Sipping on his own flute of champagne, spare hand sinking deep into his pocket, sauntering slowly away from the pillar he had spent a long time hidden behind. Time to move on lest he make one of Eyepatche's goons suspicious.

006 smiled to herself, one arm folded across herself, the other holding her glass up high as she titled her head at the oil work in front of her.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Came a smoky cockney drawl from over her shoulder.

Slowly she turned, tilting her head to look erotically back at him over her bare shoulder. He was panting after her as if he could already imagine her naked.

“Exquisite..”

She answered, whipping her head softly back around and looking at the painting once more.

“I wasn’t talkin’ about the paintin’, luv’..”

He cooed, tracing one finger down her shoulder.

She paused, smiling, looking over her shoulder to him, biting her lip coyly at his advances.

“May I ‘ave your name darlin’, I’m willin’ to bet it’s almost as pretty as your lovely face…” He flirted, leering closer.

“Ivy. Ivy Rutherford…International Art Buyer…”

She introduced, sliding out a crisp white card from her cleavage in a way he found so nail bitingly sexy and enticing. She then slid the scented slip of card into his jacket pocket. The number and email on it was fake. Of course. But he needn't know that. Ivy Rutherford only existed for tonight. And tonight only. 

“Winston. Winston Hodgkin's, sweet’heart.”

He smiled back, his tooth gleaming in the light from his jaw as his eye looked cloudy with lust.

“I say, you keep your eye on the prize, Winston.” She blinked prettily.

“I certainly do…”

He rasped, scanning her up and down once more, his hand linking to the back of her dress, his beefy fingers brushing her warm silken skin.

“.. and I’ve got my eye set firmly on a rather lovely blonde in a gold dress at the minute…”

He gruffed, his hand slid further south and squeezed her ass.

She tried her best to look turned on by the action.

Which meant smiling and letting him continue, even though she wanted to high kick him in the ribs and break his arm off.

“I was talking about the Benefit Gala…The Auction…”

She rebuffed prettily. Playing hard to get with men of power was their Kryptonite. They’d do anything to snare her if she resisted them. She was gesturing to the paintings that people would bid on to buy later.

“Pity. I wasn’t..”

He drawled, knowing he _had_ to have this beauty.

“The Deluxe Park Suite, luv’”

He cooed, pressing a thin sliver of a key card into her hand. She took it. She had given him hers, and now, he had practically _thrown_ his at her.

“11, come up after the Auction, Ivy, and not a second later, I don’t like to be kept waitin’…”

He drawled, looking at her intently, a look of lust clouding his eye.

“And what If I get a better offer?”

She asked cheekily before he stood, smiling wryly as she wafted the card in her fingers, gazing at him seductively.

He laughed, his voice scraping and rough as he guffawed. His tooth fragmented the light in the room, sparking it off the golden wedge once more.

“You won’t.”

He bit off roughly, ordering her, before he gave her a slimy wink and swaggered away off into the crowds to meet more people. The two goons examining her stonily before moving off in tow after their boss.

She kept the delighted smile on her lips long after he had disappeared. Keeping up appearances. She slipped the key under the side of her bust, down into her dress for safekeeping.

“He’s old enough to be your _grandfather_ , 006.”

008 remarked. He was now leant against the bar, making the pretty blonde barmaid blush with his complimentary ease as she poured him a whiskey.

006 ignored him, as was her true talent.

A tall slender shape slunk up to her side. She tipped her drink back in one go, letting the tang of it sting her throat, knowing that 004 now resided by her side.

“I take it you got the key?”

He asked in a suave sly voice as they stood, to the untrained eye they looked no more than faint associates examining the room about them idly.

“It’s in the safest place I know…”

She answered with a sinners smile.

“Nicely done.”

He congratulated her.

“You know me, I always get the job done.” She beamed.

“That you do 006.” He answered.

“So what plan are we adhering too?”

She asked him, they had laid in place two plans in order to devise how tonight was going to unfold. There was no second of their evening that was unplanned.

“Plan A?”

He checked with her, asking back. Eyes shining and clever, as always they were. Tilting his head to look at her. He hadn’t changed much in the past eight years to her eyes, of course, due to the many missions they all had to undergo, gone was his long rusty red hair. Now, in it’s place sat shorter locks swept back on his head, and the beard had gone too. Only a light sheen of stubble marked its absence. But still his jaw was nonetheless angular and sharp, and his handsome looks were only helped by his years.

Much like 008, much like all Agents, matter of fact, his suit was polished and probably cost more than her townhouse. It clung to him in all the right places that told her it had been tailored to fit him in the most fine way. It was a deep checked grey, with a waistcoat and tie. He dripped danger and money, and precision, as per his strict character. But to her, he was far more amiable than the love rat nature of Agent Hunter. Agent Williams was her favoured colleague by a long mile. And although at one point they had been more than that, as per the episode in the lift in Singapore, eight years ago, there was nothing between them but companionship now. He had saved her from the clutches of an evil organisation that she wasn’t aware she was being swallowed up into, with no hope of escape, yet, he didn’t follow his orders to kill her, not just because of his incredible lust for her, but because he saw an opportunity to give her a better life.

After Singapore, they staged her death. That night in the hotel, and splashed it all across the papers the next morning, tricking her Russian handlers into thinking he _had_ killed her. When in reality he jetted her back to London, to a new life, got her a job at MI6, helped get her retrained as an agent, and assisted her in leading a better life, free of any control from the people who had been threatening her life since she could crawl.

She would always be thankful to 004. And he would always be grateful that he had lost her as a target, and gained her as a friend and colleague.

Frost nodded, Plan A was the riskier of the two. But it would guarantee them the best end result.

“Plan A it is…”

She agreed. Sipping back her glass of bubbly.

“Don’t I get a say?”

Came a whine from their earpieces in odes to 008.

“Does the position of firepower and backup suit you 008?” 004 asked.

“Sending Frosty Fox in first?”

008 asked.

“Lovingly put..”

006 growled back to him.

“That’s the idea. That way our Bold and Bravado entrance into her interrogation should encourage ‘Eyepatch’ to talk, if he hasn’t done so already..”

004 explained. 

“I don’t know we’ll need to. If 006 threatened to expose her bodily parts to me, I’d quickly confess to anything to escape that method of horrific torture…”

008 smirked cockily into his glass.

006 ground her teeth together. So hard in fact, she was amazed the move didn’t _crumble_ her teeth to dust.

“The making’s of a toxic bachelor, 008, make no mistake about that..”

She fought back, before slinking off somewhere else in the ballroom to get a stiffer drink.

“One day…”

004 began, watching her sway off angrily.

“..She’s going to bitch slap you so hard, and put a bullet through your thigh, 008, to watch as you slowly bleed out to death from your femoral artery, and I’m not going to do a thing to stop it…”

He remarked with an amused smile, tossing back a mouthful of champagne with a sly handsome smirk.

008 chuckled. Leaning against the bar top, smiling down into his whiskey and taking the advantage of no one being around him at the bar to talk back his colleague.

“Knowing her 004. She couldn’t justify the use of ammunition, to Frost. I’m not worth the _‘waste of a bullet’_ ” He remarked with humour.

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Hunter..” 004 grinned.

 

 

~

 

 

 

 


	6. Secret Services

 

 

 

 

Frost slunk out of the ballroom. It was five minutes to 11. And as such, as the auction took place, everyone barely noticed as she broke away from the rows of seats where the last auction was taking place, clacking back through the sparse bar room where she had entered. A few inhabitants of it watching her as she crossed through. Thinking it was late now, and she was probably heading off home. But this could not be further from the truth…

Similarly, no many noticed how the handsome man at the bar, circled by a gaggle of women, who were laughing at his jokes and stories and relentlessly flirting with him, as he was being so inviting, yet being so hard to get. As he sipped from his whiskey glass, a blonde to his left, and two brunettes to his right. He then saw a woman in a gold dress slip away across to the lifts in the lobby. And as such, he had to apologise profusely to the three women, muttering something sly and cheeky about needing to see a man about a dog. Before he straightened, doing up his navy jacket, and sauntering away, following after the woman.

Also, an equally as handsome man, with a checked suit and an angular jaw, on the far fringes of the ballroom, finished chatting animatedly with the Japanese Foreign Secretary, thanking him in the polite and well practiced language that was like a second nature to him. He was raised in the middle east after all… He bowed in politesse, before he quit the scene, fleeing after his co-worker. His long suited legs covering the suited distance quickly.

Both men drew level with one another as they got to the door, fixing cuffs, and lightly fiddling and loosening their ties. Trying to stem the adrenaline that was the calm before the storm. They came to their female colleague, just as she finished calling a lift, and glided easily inside. They let her have it. She looked out at them both, miming a subtle ten minutes to them both before the doors shut.

“She’s optimistic…”

008 remarked as they both looked now at their reflections looking stonily back at them from the closed lift doors.

“I disagree.”

004 remarked, touching his fingers to his trusty Mustang colt XSP in his shoulder holster. The favourite of his hand guns. Oddly, brushing his fingers over the cool barrel of the weapon always calmed him down. Soothing calmness shooting through his bloodstream.

008 frowned as he too reached for his own weapon. The ever reliable Smith and Wesson 22A Hand gun which was safely hidden at the back of his waistband. He simply looked like he was doing nothing more than adjusting his belt as he felt for it. The two agents going through their pre-shoot out and immobilize rituals.

“She’s Better.”

He offered instead. As their lift dinged, and the doors parted for them.

“She was made to be the Provocateur. I’ll give her that…”

008 rewarded as they got into the lift and summoned it to start its climb.

 

~

 

The golden lift doors broke away, revealing the long narrow hallway ahead of her. It looked like any other hotel hallway in the world, she supposed. Elegantly decorated, and every other door stretched out in numerous count ahead of her, lining the walls. Tables of posh arranged wildly fragrant white flowers broke up the monotony of the long stretch of corridor, halfway down. The hallway glowed a dim taupe colour from the shaded lamps and chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, dripping droplets of crystal light down to shimmer invitingly on the carpet like fake dots of rain. Speaking of which, the floor was cushioned by a bouncy red Persian rug that bounced under the stabbing repetition of her heels as she walked down.

She could see the two goons flank the wide double doors ahead of her, the twin white polished doors that read ‘Deluxe Park Suite’ with stunning once in a lifetime views of Greens Park, she wagered in a side note.

She came to the two goons, making sure to put an extra sexy sway in her hips, and sashay her body up to them both, keeping her face looking seductive as if she didn’t even have to try to be at all stunning. She just was. But the two gorilla like men were stood looking grumpily at her as if they were both permanently tasting something sour.

As she drew ever closer, she smiled nicely, and disarmingly, seeing that the goon to the left cracked, and smiled back at her. Eyes taking a quick gander up and down her long body.

She withdrew her key card that Eyepatch had given her, showing it to the one who had the heart to crack a smile. She handed it to the goon, who was even so good as to swipe it through the lock until the LED flashed green, and then held the door open for her, letting her in with a gruff nod. She gave a prim little sexy glance and smile as her fleeting smile. Sauntering in. Feeling that his suite was much cooler, air conned, than the rest of the building had been.

As she got into the room, she saw that another bouncer, dressed in stark black, was hunched like a great hulking boulder on a tiny sofa. Flipping through a magazine, clutching a can of beer in his big beefy hands. _How guarded was this man?..._

“My names Ivy Rutherford, Mr Hodgkin's told me to come up…”

She confessed in an unsure tone. Gesturing to the key card in her hands to the goon on the sofa in Eyepatche's employ.

From the adjoining room, proceeded by large double doors where she could make out another lounge, and the undoubtable path that led to the Suite bedroom, there then came a soft popping noise, from the sound of a champagne bottle being uncorked.

“Call me Winston, darlin’, Mr Hodgkin's was my father..”

Came a gruff smoky cockney drawl from inside the room. And then Eyepatch sauntered into view, nodding his head to urge her further into the room where he was, for a bit of privacy.

He had abandoned the white jacket he had been wearing earlier, and now instead, he had on just the awful garish pink and black Hawaiian style shirt he had been wearing earlier. But he had undone several more buttons, showing her his tangerine coloured chest and more gold necklaces resting against the chest hair that was thick enough to carpet the floor with. He had two champagne flutes in his hand, which he was slowly filling with the Moet he had clasped in the other.

She slunk into the room, and Eyepatch ordered the bouncer on the sofa in a harsh grunt to shut the door and give them some privacy. As the doors closed Frost peered around the room to see that he had spared no expense for her. The champagne, aswell as an ice bucket for it to stand in, and a huge plate piled high with fresh strawberries.

“Are you a dab hand at seducing women then? Winston?”

She asked saucily, swiping a champagne glass from his offering beefy fingers, and swaying over to the large sofa that overlooked the floor to ceiling windows out across, yes, she had been right. Green’s park.

Her eyes scanned about the room as she dissected it. He was unarmed too, she noted. His jacket folded over a chair on the far side of the suite. And the large wardrobe that she knew held a large safe. She’d have to lean hard on him for the information of what was inside it.

“Seducing. No. Satisfying, _Yes_ …”

He purred, eyeing her pale legs up as she crossed the long things in front of her, the both of them poking out of her golden glittering dress. Frost didn’t really want to think about this hulking great brute taking a lover as slender as her, he’d probably crush the poor thing during…

“You never told me what you did, do you mind my asking?”

She tried subtly, giving small talk a go. She had precisely three minutes left of nice talk before his interrogation began.

“There’s some things best left unsaid…”

He explained tersely, moving the roll the champagne bottle into the ice bucket, keeping it cool.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think there is definitely some things that are a _must._ ”

She said, pronouncing the ‘t’ harshly at the end of her words, as she stood her glass down, got to her feet, and slunk right up close to him.

“You look fuckin’ drop dead gorgeous in that dress, luv..”

He growled, slinging his arm low across her back and tugging her lithe little golden frame right to his chest. His eyes looking this sexy woman up and down as if he was going to devour her.

“How despicable of me…”

She purred, looking seductively up at him through her lashes.

He laughed, taking in her height, thinking her shoes needed to be rid of now.

“Do those heels make it hard to walk?”

He asked as he turned and threw her to the bed, watching as she gasped before she leaned back, bracing her body back on her hands to the snow white delicately pressed sheets below her.

His beefy hand wrapped about her smooth shaven soft leg and pulled sharply up, bringing her heel up to his knee, looking at the daggeringly high golden heel, watching as the dress slid away further and further up her pale thighs.

“I don’t know…..” She purred.

He watched then as her eyes seemed to shift, they went from cloudy and lustfully blue, to a glinting shade of sapphire blue that he couldn’t quite read.

“You tell me…” She bit out flirtily, but seriously…

He didn’t have time to frown before she retracted her leg from his hand, and swiped such a high and fast powerful high kick to the side of his face, it made his ears ring.

She then twisted back and ploughed her feet with all her might into the man’s ribs, winding him, and throwing him away to the floor below. He grunted into a gasp as he landed, lungs free of air, ears ringing. She drew her legs up as she came to stand.

Crossing over to him, and pressing her heel down onto his throat, not digging in hard, _yet_..

“Where are the weapons Eyepatch?” She asked.

“ _What?!_ ”

He spat, gurgling through his words, his hands attempting to claw uselessly at her foot. But it was useless. This woman was _all_ muscle and power above him. Her thighs were as strong and as solid and concrete, and his muscles were too old and frail to fight her. She kicked his arms away as he tried to get her off, a sickening crunch telling her she had rolled one arm too far back in its socket. He yelled through the pain.

“The weapons…”

She said louder this time, pressing her foot down more. He watched as her spare hand went to her thigh and pulled free a small little hand gun.

“Tell me, or I will not hesitate in giving your skull a good ventilation…” She growled at him, unlatching the safety on her Beretta.

It was then that the goon from the other room burst in at hearing his Master’s yelp. Frost watched as the doors both burst inwards, the goon lumbering in to see what the problem was. Eyepatch chuckled, his help was more than _twice_ her size, and width and he would undoubtedly be able to beat her.

“Get.HER!”

He gurgled, still commanding orders in a rasp from under her golden shoe daggering into his throat.

He may have had help, but she didn’t need any whatsoever… She stepped away from Eyepatch and faced up to the body guard…

She ducked as the goon grabbed for her, swinging out of his hold and jabbing him on the instep, then thrusting the heel of her palm upwards into his nose, so he now staggered and yelped at the blood pouring out of his broken nose, and the fact that her heel had stabbed painfully deep into his feet.

With just two more moves she had him floored too.

Which involved a swift jab of a kick to his groin, and lastly, giving him a sharp dose of immobilizing spray which came from a tiny black tube she had kept tucked to her gartered thigh with her gun for safe keeping. It was a harmless little trick really. She’d preferred to have just snapped his neck, but this way was more MI6 Friendly, the Immobilizer was a concoction of chloroform and a sleeping drug, that when was sprayed directly into the nose or mouth, rendered the victim unconscious within seconds. She watched as the bleeding crumpled man slumped with a heavy thudding _‘WHACK’_ to the floor as she kicked him there, out cold.

She then stalked back over to Eyepatch, one skinny yet toned and powerful arm of hers wrenching into his shirt collar and tugging him up so she could stagger him backwards and slam his body into the doorway behind them both, his one eye examining her with caution and fear. She had just bested an 240kg man without breaking into a sweat. _Who was this woman?_

“The Weapons…”

She asked again. Not having any talk back from him this time, pointing a gun to his chest.

“What Weapons?” He grunted

“The £2 million pounds worth of weapons given to you by the Russian Assassin Group. Where are they? Your warehouse in the east end?…” She bit out.

“Or do you wish to go about this the hard way?”

She asked with a wry twitch of her brow.

He grunted, panting through a snarl as he clenched his fists. Glaring at her.

“What makes you think I’d divulge anything to a sneaky betraying blonde _bitch…_ ” He spat at her.

She raised one amused brow.

He watched as she stepped back, gun still in one hand, but to which she reached over to the side of her head, and grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair. He watched as she tugged, moving her head one way and peeling the buttery hair another way.

The butter coloured curls came free from her head, and Eyepatch watched, as from underneath there sprang out a bright burst of red, as her true fire coloured blood red hair tumbled down to her neck, she straightened up her head as he was now stood gaping at an equally as stunning curly redhead. With a full head of bouncy soft auburn curls.

She threw the blonde wig away to the floor. 

“I don’t know about divulging anything to a blonde bitch. But let me tell you that _this_ redhead has infinitely _less_ patience…”

She remarked drily, pointing the Beretta south to point at the floor as she then put a bullet silently through his foot in a soft bang from her little hand gun.

He yelled and screamed, and cursed her name through the pain.

“Weapons?….”

She ground out, not relenting in her interrogation.

 

 

~

 

 

 

004 and 008 performed the routine they had perfected to an art. As soon as they got to above level six, one floor above the Grand Deluxe Suite, 008 easily halted the lift, causing it to shudder to a stop as he got to work.

Him and 004 had drawn proverbial straws, and as Williams had been the one to perform this tediously quick manoeuvre on an operation last week in Marrakesh, this week, the turn fell to Hunter.

He crossed the lift control panel, and threw it off, whistling as he placed a small torch in his mouth and hummed as he found the little snake of a wire he was looking for. Brown, perfect. He tugged it out and slipped on a little silver control box onto it, which was no bigger than a key fob, but he pressed the auto control button, and waited for the floors and numbers to sync up. After which, he tucked the little box back into the nest of wires and replaced the silver panel to the front of the lift.

He then pressed a singular button on the little remote he held in his hands, and the lift whirred into life again, the doors pinged open as they reached the top floor.

“God, I love my job..”

He remarked under his breath as he grinned.

He looked across to 004 who had been looking down, Staring his watch, counting the seconds ticking by. The lift doors re opened again. Hunter swaggered out. Grinning. Pleased with himself. 

“You’re getting sloppy in your old age. Just face up to the fact you’re not as young as you once were.”

Williams grinned to his suave colleague. Walking fast out of the lift after him as he sauntered down the hallway.

“Still haven’t lost my magic touch…” 008 beamed.

“With women or technology?” 004 asked.

“Both.”

008 grinned as they came to the end of the hallway, and they both darted into the stairwell

“You know, I never quite understood the reason as to why exactly, you keep timing me when I have to perform the lift manoeuvre..”

008 said suddenly, as both men clattered down the stairs quickly, both their lengthy legs carrying them quicker than daddy long legs.

“Seeing if you can manage to beat my record, Mr Magic Touch…”

004 grinned, as they both came to the door of the stairwell, where Frost was busy with her interrogation in the Deluxe Suite, just the other side of the doors where they now stood, fixing their guns, loading up and getting ready to storm the place. Eyepatch would doubtless have goons flanking the doors of his hotel room.

“What’s your record?” 008 asked with drawn brows.

“3.4 seconds…” 004 beamed.

008 frowned harder.

“And mine?”

He asked. Withdrawing the little remote from his jacket and pressing the button. Outside of the door, the two goons watched the hallway down ahead of them, as the lift doors pinged open, showing them the golden bare walls inside the lift.

They both frowned, the lift only opened if there was someone inside it. The Goons looked to an each other for an explanation that would not come. But something else was about to storm their way…

“Yours is a very shoddy on average 5.8 seconds..” 004 smirked.

“Bet you I can take out this thug quicker…” 008 nodded to the door beyond them.

“I’ll take you up on that...” 004 nodded.

The door to the stairwell burst inwards and the goons saw two lanky muscled men advanced quickly towards them both. Hunter took the lead, Williams advanced just to his right, a little way behind him. But close enough so that when the goons lunged for them both, they were able to take down one each.

Hunter did it by swirling his fist into his ones nose, sending him sailing to the wall, before grabbing his bald head and slamming it back, rendering him instantly unconscious as his skull met the wall.

Williams swerved to get to his guy, ducking past Hunter to fist his goon in the shin, knocking him to his knees, he then applied just enough pressure to the side of the thugs head with his gun in his hand to send him sprawling to the floor with a grunt.

Williams looked at his watch.

“4.7 seconds. Not bad on the whole, 008…”

Williams puffed, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow.

“What do you reckon? Think she needs help?” 008 asked, tilting his head to the door within.

“Why not, we’ve come this far..” 004 shrugged wryly.

“Shall I do the honours?” 004 asked.

008 bowed suavely, sweeping his hand out in front of him

“With pleasure, _darling_ …” Hunter grinned.

Williams lifted his lanky leg and gave once sharp kick to the middle of the twin doors, seeing that they burst open, and the two men held their guns high and swept into the room to offer their colleague assistance.

Eyepatche's terrified brown eye leered wide over the red heads shoulder as suddenly, two handsome, tall angular men armed with guns burst into the room behind her. Flanking her. They were doubtless on her side. Despite the pain in his foot, the woman still had him pinned to the doorway, questioning him.

“Don’t make me aim for the other foot Eyepatch..” She snarled.

“Or get one of my colleagues over here to help assist me…” She growled in a low and dangerous tone.

004 slid his weapon back to his shoulder, crossing past Frost and Eyepatch.

“Seeing as you are being lax in assisting my fellow agent, you wouldn’t mind if I took a quick peek around, would you?” 004 asked cruelly. Spotting the cooling champagne and strawberries on the side.

“Oh, looks like had something _saucy_ in mind for you, Frost..”

008 grinned, crossing the room in quick strides, plucking a plump fat fruit from the bowl and bringing it to his lips, taking a bite. Smirking arrogantly. 

She ignored his idiotic remark.

“ _Who **are**_ you people?”

Eyepatch hissed. Glaring at Frost and Hunter who leered behind her, and looking across to Williams who was rifling through a bag the far side of the room, rooting around.

“Secret Service. MI6. Agent Frost I believe you've met. over there is Agent Williams and then myself, the best til last, I believe, Agent Hunter... ” 008 beamed. 

"If you'be quite finished over inflating your ego, 008..." Frost growled icily.  

Eyepatch frowned.

"Quite. Yes. Thankyou. 006. Now. Eyepatch. Start squawking..."

Hunter beamed, levelling his gun at the man. 

Eyepatch remained silent. Hunter roles his eyes. 

“Ok then. Have it this way....

Unless you tell both myself, and my dear fellow agents what it is we desire to know, then we can rightfully, as upheld in Legislation by the Terrorism Act of 2006, have you carted off somewhere for a very painful and long series of pointed questions, without the right to a lawyer, a phone call, and we can detain you as such without question or reason for as long as we like, as long as we are certain that you are doing underhanded deals with some shady Russian killers.

You don’t want to deny us any information, Eyepatch. One mere syllable from any of us three can ensure you spend a long and agonising amount of time at one of her royal majesty’s very secure prison services being water boarded and castrated bit by little bitty bit of you until we get what we want…”

Hunter warned him.

"You'll be a _Winifred_  by the time they're through with cutting off the old chap you hold _most dear.."_

He snarled cockily.  

004 chuckled at hearing that. 

Eyepatch swallowed. Gulping in fear. He was a thug, he had beaten and terrified others with no care for concern. But these people were something else, they were killers. And even he, a rough east end gangster, was _scared_ of them…

“Or, similarly. I can have Frost here, the most ruthless Agent this side of Russia, shoot you in the leg again. And let me tell you, I know the woman. She's a machine. She’d do it. And it wouldn’t be a quick death for you, she has a penchant for pain…”

Frost swerved her heel down on Eyepatche's wounded foot to prove it, the man howled as a response.

Hunter leered at him.

“Okay… _okay_ …”

Eyepatch surrendered. Gasping as the pain subsided.

“Too little, too late, Hunter…”

Came a dry side note from Williams. The three of them looked over to see he had unzipped a large black leather bag, which fell open to reveal a bag chock full of Russian weapons. Grenades, guns, sniper rifles, flick knifes, assault rifles, the lot. _Exactly_ what they had all been tasked to find.

“The first of many deliveries..” Eyepatch grumbled.

“What was that, the sample batch?…”

Frost asked stonily, still wrenching his collar in her grip, clasping him to the wall.

“The rest is being delivered this week. To the place.. in the Isle of Dogs…” Eyepatch grumbled roughly.

“And what about the group who loaned you the weapons in exchange for the one million, any information you can give us on that?”

Eyepatch resisted.

But not for very long, as Frost drew him back, and then threw him forwards to the floor again, having head butted him so he fell, blood cascading like a waterfall from his nose as he did. He clutched at his bleeding face, laying on the floor in agony before her foot was at his throat again.

“Anonymous!” He cried in pain.

“They were anonymous! I – I did the deal for the money by bartering with them via webcam with no screen showing who I was talking too, when I did meet them, it was a different person every time. Always dressed head to toe in black. I never saw a face. They like their anonymity..” He gabbled.

“I think that’s everything we need from you, Hodgkin's…”

Hunter said finally with leering conviction. Williams rose to his feet and stalked across the room, coming to his two comrades.

“I’ll let Heath know. Get some of this mess cleared away..”

He ushered, sweeping past the unconscious goon and the bleeding, wounded gangster. His phone held to his ear.

Hunter leered down at Frost, as they both remained in the room with Eyepatch, sirens blaring blue light up outside from the street now.

It seems that the bobby’s had arrived to do some mopping up of the neat mission. Eyepatch would be taken to hospital, and then the police could handle the information regarding the weapons before turning him over to the secret service, into their dark shadowy clutches.

“So…”

Hunter grinned seductively at Frost. His stormy eyes gathering lusty clouds. His smile was dark and sexy, and his voice was all smoke, rasp, and husk.

“Can I buy you a drink? Night cap to round off the evening? Lets not let that sexy dress go to waste. As good as you did look blonde, bet you didn't know I’ve got an _undying_ fetish for Red-heads…” He drawled.

He just managed to duck past her fist, as it circumvented in a large arc, attempting to plough straight into the middle of his leering face

~ 

 

 

 


	7. HQ

 

 

 

The headquarters of MI6 was a thoroughly modern place. You needed eight security clearances and four background checks just to reach the lobby of the place. Everyone who entered had fingerprints, retinal scans, and ID photo’s taken all before they were even properly allowed inside the building. To some people, this is extreme, and incredibly monotonous. But to the Agent’s, much like everything else in their lives, it’s fallen into strict routine for them.

Agent Frost just finished parroting her double-o class sereal number, and kept her baby blue eyes open wide to finish the retinal scan, after the security guard gave her a silent nod for the all clear, she then made her way into and across the huge marble lobby. The sound of barely chatting voices and heels and expensive shoes slapping to the tile floor ricochet up to the glass atrium ceiling like a swarm of bees. She strides confidently in her tall red soled, black high heels past the reception desk, shimmying her smooth way over to the lifts to make her way to the debriefing room.

She looked far more lethally pointed this morning than she did last night. Gone was the luxurious golden, soft goddess like dress, this woman was dressed for buisness, nothing more, nothing less.

She had on the sharpest black suit, a vivienne westwood, which probably cost her an arm and a leg, but the way she looked like she was born to carry it off, made the hefty price tag worth it. It was black, and clung like a second skin to her upper body, the neck gaped wide, showing off the barest sliver of the tops of her breasts, and all across her pale clavicle. It fitted down to her waist, then flared back out again thereafter. On her bottom half, she had stretched across her wide shaped ass and her strong thighs, a stark and long black pencil skirt, with a deep V shape missing from the back of her calves. What made her feel all the more like a Provocateur was the fact she had sheer stockings and a garter belt on underneath the skirt, it gave her a little devilish confidence when teemed with her Labotuins and the sexy black ensemble.

In her hands she held a large black leather A4 carrying case, which was where she kept the top secret documents that had been couriered to her house at 5am that morning for this mornings 09:00 hours, debriefing. But she had been up since 4, so it was no early morning for her. In her other hand she held a takeaway cup that she had time to grab with ease on the way here, It was tea. It as always tea. Earl grey tea with lemon, she detested coffee.

Her hair this morning she had decided to leave down, and as such, it curled into an easy styled bob of red hair, which managed to look effortlessly great without her even having to try. Slung across her right shoulder was her large black leather bag, she carried the bare essentials. Which was rare for a woman such as her.

She strode her long legged way across to the lifts, and managed to catch an empty one. Standing inside, she took the opportunity to moisten her red lips, and watch as the doors slowly started to close in front of her. Her reflection thrown back to her from the hazy silver doors. All she could see was her black suit, her pale skin, and her red hair. She had spent little and next to no time doing her make up this morning, yet she still looked flawless. Her pale skin contoured and highlighted, making her excellently sharp cheekbones, even sharper. She had kept her face relatively neutral, save for a slick of bright red lipstick, and just a dagger of black eyeliner on her lids, and mascara on her eyes. It was just enough to look like a lot.

She watched, however, as a long fingered and all male hand slid between the doors and wedged them open from closing. She watched as the rest of him then came into view, to find it was a familiar face. 004 wrangled his way inside the lift, nodding an easy smile at his colleague. He too was dressed finely in a suit for the debriefing with Heath, which began in 30 minutes. But knowing the both of them, they’d get to the conference room early and start going over intel and information to present to their boss on Operation ‘Eyepatch.’

Today, 004 was being particularly wicked on the poor female race, she thought, clothing his fine body in an even finer suit. It was a dove grey number today, with a white shirt and a matching charcoal grey waistcoat underneath. And a black and silver striped tie knotted to his neck. On his feet he wore black polished brogue shoes. He looked clean cut, handsome and polished. His hair was never not styled fantastically. And 006 could see that he had sported a good close clean shave this morning. So the rusty stubble that sat in face across his jaw yesterday had gone now.

“006.” He greeted in that silky voice.

She smiled, he watched as her fantastic full lips curved into a beautiful smile.

“Morning, 004.” She welcomed.

“Sleep well last night?”

She enquired, her eyes going to the panel that told them they were now swooping mast the 14th floor.

“I slept _alone_ , 006.”

He winked cheekily. Hands going behind his back as he stood, legs spread wide.

“Careful, that statement borders upon sounding like something 008 would say..”

She warned.

He lifted one wry brow. Smiling. Letting his eyes flicker over her snappily dressed work wear. She had lethal taste in her wardrobe, he noticed, when it came to her work wear. She was all sharp heels, and elegant black numbers. Yet her curves seemed to soften the edge on the sharp things she wore.

It was no secret she was the curviest female agent in all of the bureau. But the way she dressed, made her appear like she knew this fact. And he had to agree, that he preferred looking at a woman with shape and flare, rather than all of the other female agents. Who, he had to declare, were inherently unfertile looking when compared to Frost.

“Well. I have been working with the man for eight years, some things about him are bound to sink in eventually…”

He granted, still with a suave smile to his lips.

Frost arched a perfectly shaped brow at him. Her smile growing to a leer.

“I’d rather wager that you could never sink _that low_ , 004.” She smiled.

“He’s not _all_ that bad, Frost…”

“Why am I having trouble believing you… The man is a selfish lout whose own self interest barely rises above looking after himself, or chasing after a bit of skirt. He is rude, arrogant, unprofessional, and hanging onto his job here by the skin of his teeth, and laughing about that fact, whilst the people around him are earnestly trying to work and do our jobs..” She ranted.

“But. He is one hell of an agent…”

“When he sets his wandering mind to it..”

Frost added. Her hatred for 008 ran _that_ deep.

“I recall last week he nearly blew our intelligence cover in St. Lucia because he took a rich bankers wife to bed whilst we were on a stake out after Artemis Crane for Operation Eyepatch..” She reminded him.

“Ok, I admit. That part of his character does impede on his work. But you cannot deny, when he is tasked to get the job done, he get’s it done, 006. Try not to write off a man based purely on his few faults.”

She examined deep into the depths of his honest blue eyes then, finding no hint of dishonesty within them.

“I’ll try my best. But if he so much as messes up our jobs here by proxy, then I am going to have to kill him, you know that.” She ground out seriously.

004 laughed.

“ _Oh,_ Even he knows that. But he thinks he is safe because you deem him, ‘not worth the waste of a _bullet’_ …” 004 grinned.

“He flatters himself to think I’d make his death such an indulgent one with the use of a gun…” She growled.

Williams grinned to her then, and his smile was wide, and perfect.

“Never let it be said you are not fiesty, 006..”

He leered, his voice a husky rasp which she secretly adored. She noticed he leaned awfully close to her then. Hands in his pockets as he stared her down, undressing her with his eyes.

“Careful, 004. Where you, myself, and lifts are concerned, we have a somewhat _salacious_ and spicy history..”

She reminded him with a sinning smile.

His smile tipped wryly to the side.

“You needn’t remind me, 006, You are still awarded the standing in my head, as _the_ hottest shag, I have ever had…”

He purred. Grinning down at her, sexily.

“How flattering..”

She rasped, her red smile looked so ripe to him, he just wanted to throw the damn paperwork out of her hands, and _have_ her right there in the lift. _Again._ He could almost visage those long pale legs wrapped about his waist, sexy devil red soles of her black heels crossed at his lower back, as all he’d have to do to expose her, was slide that skirt up over her delectably fine ass. And once more reunite himself with her exquisite cunt.

At that point, the lift doors slid smoothly open, and automated voice telling them they had reached MI6 HQ, on the 40th floor. 006 tore her eyes and smile away from 004, and sexily clacked out of the lift before him. he both of them walking side by side along the modern, and rarely bustling corridors, until they walked down a wide curving corridor to get to where the large glass dominated conference room was, where their debrief and presentation to Heath, Head of MI6 Operations, began in thirty minutes time.

He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he had watched her walk two steps in front of him, if only just to see that _perfect_ rounded ass sway about from side to side under her skirt.

He smiled inwardly to himself. 006 was sex on legs make no mistake about that…

“So..”

006 coughed loudly as she and him got into the glass dominated room, that housed one large silver table, and many chairs, and of which peered out right across London. Showing them the gloomy overcast day that was so typical for October.

She laid her bag and leather folder down upon the tables smooth cold surface, turning back to 004 who entered the room behind her, she also felt she needed to brush past all the weighty sexual tension that seemed to trail permanently after the two. As it was, Frost thought, they both needed to keep their mind set firmly on their work.

“Do you have the, um, the documents on Crane and St Lucia?” She asked him.

He stood, reading her body language and surveying her as she kept her back to him.

“You don’t always have to be so brave, you know..”

He offered seriously, but gently.

She twisted her head to face him at that.

“I don’t know what you mean…” She admitted. Blinking those big blue eyes at him. 

“You don’t have to put your all your barriers up the very second you feel someone breaking through them..” He spoke kindly.

She didn’t know what to say. But then, words found their way to her lips.

“It’s...it's.. Just the way I am.”

She offered. Swallowing nervously.

“When I was brought up, I was brought up being told day in and day out not to feel _anything_. That feeling, is a weakness. It makes you vulnerable and weak. Ironsgate crushed out any sympathy or emotion they could find, it’s what they’re best at. I could never… hope...To be the same way as everyone else after that. It’s all I know.” She steeled.

“Being human doesn’t make you weak..” He added.

“Yes, it does…” She mumbled quietly.

“Because If I slide into humanity for just one second, I would be a hopeless Agent 004. I have to distance myself from things such as relationships, and friends. And the hope for ever finding love. I can’t do that, and be a great Agent at the same time. Or what I do, what we do, it won’t ever be easy if we allow ourselves to feel. I can’t do that.” She admitted.

“I love my job, and I love what I do. I’ll make whatever sacrifices I have to, however huge they may be, to let it remain that way… All I’ve ever known is how to be alone, 004, It comes naturally to me.”

She said with final conviction on the matter.

004 nodded. He could never truly know what horrors she had been forced to endure growing up. And he would never want to know either. She had been trained, since she was an infant, by the most heartless people and institute on earth, to be nothing more than a weapon. To be the hand that pulled the trigger with no remorse, and nothing else. That was all they had ever told her to be….

“I’m sorry 006, that I doubted you, and, I would never wish it upon you to stop being who you are, to do what you love.”

He explained gently. Even though she pleaded she had thick skin, they both know he had worn it thin to see through into her.

She smiled, it was fleeting, and small. But her eyes slid up to his, and he saw she was made a little weaker by what she had admitted.

“Don’t be stupid. Roscoe, You never have to be sorry, to me.”

She explained. Standing straight and looking him right in the eyes. Her voice gentle and soft.

Because he had saved her from all that. Whisked her away, and given her a far better life than the one she was used to. Something she would never be able to truly thank him for. A state of eternal gratitude she would always display to 004 for his empathy, and his heart.

He smiled.

“And in answers to your enquiry, yes, I have the St Lucia and Crane file.”

He explained, walking forwards, digging into his pocket to bring out a small USB pen drive.

She nodded.

“Good.”

Crimson smile growing wide, before she tucked a stray coil of hair back behind her ear, and continued searching through her folder.

As they both heard the sound of the glass door being pushed open once more, they found that they were both not alone.

Heath, Head of Operations at MI6, despite the somewhat androgynous name, was in fact, a man. He was not in his first flushes of youth, nor was he a withering aged man either. He sat firmly in-between. Possibly being only a few years senior of both 004, and 008 themselves. If Frost had to guess, then judging by the grey streaked in his black hair, and the wrinkles that were prominent by his eyes. Then he was circling somewhere near 40, at the very most.

He was a dark, and dangerous looking business man, whose impassive grey eyes were little softer than concrete to look into. His face was carved into his age, with immaculate always shaved skin, and barely any colour to his cheeks. He had a wide, oval shaped face that was long and perfectly arched to house his facial features. In odes to his slowly advancing senility, he always carried about a pair of glasses, which he kept in the pocket of his jacket, and to which he would slide out to place on when he examined documents. He was a irrevocably short tempered man, who expected high things from people. Namely his agents. He wasn’t soft, and loving. And he never expected any of his Agent’s to look to him as a mentor. He expected them to stand on their own two feet, and to get the bloody job done. He was Head of Operations, not a damn babysitter. Dressed today, in a pinstriped grey suit, a white shirt, with a waistcoat and pale silver tie to match. A tie pin centered in the knot that sat at his neck. And in a somewhat old, and rarely seen style, a silver watch fob chain linked about his stomach.

“Morning, Frost. Williams…”

He greeted blandly, crossing past them both to sit at the head of the table.

“Good Morning Sir…”

004 greeted in a stiff professional tone.

“Where’s 008?”

Heath asked in an icy tone.

Frost gave 004 an ‘I told you’ look. He was probably still rolling around the right side of the wrong bed with some married tart.

“….He…must be late, Sir.”

Frost explained.

“Late?”

Heath asked incredulously.

“We are the top security force tasked with protecting her majesty’s interests, both overseas and at home, not to mention we are the front line of Britain's secret international defense. _Late,_ 006, is not a word I allow for in my vocabulary.”

He ranted angrily. He sighed thereafter.

“We’ll start without him..”

Heath ground out, waving the thought of the infernal character of 008 off.

“I trust last nights operation was a success..”

He asked, as he lowered himself down onto a chair and directed a cold grey gaze down at two of his best employees.

“A complete success, Sir.”

004 answered.

“Not only did the interrogation pay off, but Eyepatch also kept the first consignment of Russian military grade illegal weapons in his hotel room. Which we managed to find, and confiscate. And he gave us Intel that there was to be several more, larger, deliveries to his warehouse in the Isle of Dogs this week. We informed the metropolitan police, who will keep strict surveillance on the warehouse until we can seize the rest of the arms after their delivery.” Frost explained.

“Good work, Frost. I got a report through not ten minutes ago from the Chief Superintendent, saying that ‘Eyepatch’ sustained several injuries. Some of which include a dislocated shoulder, a broken nose, a bullet wound to the foot, and severe contusions to his throat. I trust that was you who did the interrogation? it sounds remarkably like your work..”

He asked, peering down at her as he slid his glasses on, as Frost crossed to him, and handed him the complete, now to be closed file on ‘Eyepatch.’

“Indeed it was, Sir.”

She explained.

He gave a nondescript ‘hmmm’ sound. Which all agents had come to learn, was actually quite a high form of praise on their bosses behalf.

“Impressive..” He granted her.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Did you manage to retrieve any Intel on the Russian group, with whom Eyepatch traded the weapons?” He asked.

“The little Eyepatch did confess to was not enough to go on, I’m afraid Sir…” 004 recounted.

“But he did inform us that the group ‘value their anonymity’ he said he did deals via webcam, but no image was shown. And when he met various group members, they always kept their identity obscured.”

“That doesn’t sound like any group we know of…” Heath added.

“No Sir.” 004 agreed.

“But we are surveying where ‘Eyepatche's’ money disappears too. Pointing to all the usual Russian Mobster culprits. That money moves anywhere, we’ll find it.” 004 assures them. 

It was at this point, that Heath’s phone sprung into alertness with a message, he pulled it from his jacket, and examined it.

“Their ears must’ve been burning. We know now..” He informed his Agents, as he read the screen.

“The marked money that Eyepatch used, which totaled £1.5 million exactly, was just paid by Hodgkin's account number, Via a rich Russian Business man, Ivan Storm, into the Montenegro High stakes annual Poker game…” Heath read aloud.

“So the Russian group used Eyepatche's money to back a business man in a poker game buy in..” 004 confirmed.

“One of the most illustrious Poker Games of this century, 004. The buy in is more than £5 million per head, top card players from all over the world attend. The Final sum adds up to around £100 Million. It’s held every fifteen years in a hotel in Montenegro.”

“The ‘Get-In’…” Frost burst out suddenly.

Heath and Williams frowned in bewilderment down at her. She crossed to one side of the table, and picked up a small remote and pointed it to the wall that faced Heath. Within a second, up flashed a screen showing two photos. Both were grainy shots of two different men, both of whom were talking to notorious gangster figures in hidden secretive spaces.

Frost stalked over to the board, mind racing with connections and pathways…

“This…”

She pointed to the left picture, which was of a chubby grinning American drugs lord, Artemis Crane, who ran his drugs cartel out of St Lucia, who was meeting with a rich Caribbean backer, some overwhelmingly rich native figure, over a gold course.

“Is Artemis Crane. The drugs lord from L.A. The one who runs the class A drug chain out of Cuba. He also sells illegal cigars, and banned handguns to rich American's…” Frost explained.

“We know him..”

Heath explained. rapping his fingers on the table. MI6 surveyed everyone who could be a security risk.

“Last week in St Lucia, myself, and Williams…”

Heath levelled her a look.

“Hunter?”

He asked in a cold tone.

“Was otherwise occupied at the time, Sir.” 004 explained in a sigh. 

Heath’s eyes gleamed in understanding.

“I see…” He added stonily.

“Anyway, Sir. We managed to survey that Crane did a business deal with a rich Caribbean tycoon over a game of golf, Crane stated very clearly that the five mil, would be used for a ‘ _get in’_ , to which, he’d then split the prize money, or forfeit ten million to the tycoon.” Frost explained.

“Which means, when he said ‘Get –in’ he meant.…”

She began. But Heath got there quicker.

“Cranes buying into the Montenegro game too..”

Heath cottoned on quickly, grey eyes glinting with dangerously aroused interest.

“Exactly..” Frost concluded.

“Imagine what that £100 million could be used for by a man like Crane…” 004 offered grimly.

“What Crane would use it for is a sweet honeyed dream, compared to what this man would use it for..”

Frost explained, pressing a button, so the second grainy picture morphed into a clearer shot of a mans face.

Heath and Williams both felt a sweep of icy fear sweep their stomachs. Not that they’d ever show it.

Damien Lessheart.

He was the worst sort of bad guy. He had funded terrorist deals, car bombs, jewel Heists, even massacres at the hands of some awful African war lord, or a widespread murder at the wish of some Czech gangster.

He looked as evil as his reputation was. He had a thin, bony face, with sunken hooded black coloured eyes, like a shark, underlined with dark heavy bags, and that looked like they trusted no one. His hair was grey, with one streak of white swiping through it. His skin was pale, ashen nearly, in matching colour like his hair. And he had one scar which hung over his top lip, and of which twisted when he smirked. Everyone who had ever come across this man, and lived to tell the tale, agreed he was a villain of the worst sort.

“This was taken three weeks ago, by the Secret Security, in Namibia, and it shows Lessheart meeting with an infamous African warlord, who is currently fighting a tribal war with his rival african state. The rivlary runs very deep, gang war, turf war, shootings, killings. There is nothing these African states haven’t done to each other…” Frost explained.

“Now it all makes sense…”

She mumbled, swallowing. In obvious fear.

“It makes me shudder to think what that warlord would do with Lesshearts share of the winnings..”

Heath winced. And for a man who showed as little emotion as him. It was truly terrifying to see him react in such way.

“He’d split the prize with them. God only knows what would happen to the rival state if the war lord got more than, £50 million, maybe…” Heath continued. 

“It would be a massacre to rival Zimbabwe in 96’..”

004 murmured coldly in prediction.

Frost stood silently, her mind drinking in all the information that was linking up so perfectly now.

Heath took a deep breath.

“Well. I can only see _one_ solution to this problem…”

Heath spoke up at last.

All three’s attention turned instantly to a noise made by the glass door as someone pushed it open, where they could all now see their tardy colleague swagger his arrogant smirking way into the conference room behind them all. Frost ground her teeth together. She really was going to sucker punch the cocky tosspot. He was late, hair mussed, unshaven chin, and looked not one jot apologetic about that. Plus, he was still wearing the _same_ suit he had on last night.

 _I wasn’t wrong about his bedding some married tart then. Clearly the idiot didn’t make it home after all…_ 006 thought to herself.

He calmly swayed himself into the room. Smiling that self absorbed smile to all of his colleagues, and his boss. Frost noted he smelled of women's perfume. Much like he had done last night. Plus. His hair had recently had small hands raked through it. His lips looked passion bruised by a kiss, and his fly was only done up a 4th of the way.

She glared her most withering stare at him. 

“What did I miss?”

Hunter asked, hands In his pockets, smile sleazy as he eyed up 006’s superb ass under her pencil skirt. She had stockings on too, he could tell. She had black seams running _sexily_ down the backs of her shapely calves.

“Have you a problem with time keeping, 008?”

Heath asked icily. His voice raising to an angered tone.

“None whatsoever, Sir. I apologize for my tardiness. It won’t happen again…”

008 confirmed, smile fading if but a little, from his face.

“Yes. You’ve said as such for the last 18 occasions when you’ve been unpunctual, 008.”

Heath chided pitilessly. As he slammed down the folder in his hands to the table, rising from his chair, and stalking past 004, to come and stand directly in front of him. Heath was no small man, matter of fact, he drew perfectly level with 008. They were both lingering somewhere near the same height.

“Unless you start taking your job seriously, Hunter. I will have you fired faster than you can blink. Am I understood?” Heath asked.

008 looked impassive for a moment before he answered.

“I understand you perfectly, Sir.” Hunter steeled through gritted teeth.

“If you’d prevailed upon yourself to be on time this morning, 008, you would have learned what Frost and Williams were debriefing me on.” Heath spoke. 

“The St Lucia files, yes? Surveillance on Artemis Crane, which had something to do with Eyepatche's money being paid to someone dangerous…”

Hunter explained. Sweeping his stormy blue eyes across the board, showing him the picture of Lessheart, whose portrait sat glaring at him from across the room. He could hate all he liked on 008, But Heath couldn't deny the man had intelligence in spades…

“Damien Lessheart is involved?” Hunter asked.

“He, along with Artemis Crane, and Eyepatche's One million were all used to buy into the high stakes poker game in Montenegro next week. But if you had elected to get your head out of your ass, and show up on time, 008, you’d know that…”

Frost growled towards Hunter.

“006…”

Heath warned her, her tone was icy and annoyed.

“No. I make no apologies for my words, Sir. Almost _every_ mission we have been tasked on in recent months has been overshadowed by Hunter being a reckless, narcissistic, and lazy twat who can barely summon the _energy_ to focus on his work for two seconds, and not chase blindly after women. Whilst myself and 004 are left to pick up the slack…”

She shouted, looking at Heath, but pointing wildly at Hunter.

“ _Oh, Lighten Up_. 006. Just because you have such a ramrodded tight assed opinion of everyone around you, doesn’t mean you should start projecting your angered spinster energy on me just because I enjoy the company of other women. And what’s more, you can’t seem to stand the fact that I enjoy my life. Joy. Something which that ruthless killer orphanage must’ve stamped right out of you, you tight lipped baron bitch…” Hunter yelled back to her.

“ _So help me,_ One day if you don’t get yourself killed, Hunter, I’d gladly put a bullet through your head, I don’t care if they _murdered_ me for it…” She snarled.

“Oh, save the dirty talk 006. Save it for the next poor unlucky sod who dares try to get your Ice cold character into bed with him…” He growled back.

The two Agents had ignored who else was in the room with them. Now they had sauntered so close to one another, lips pulled back and eyes hot as the glared at one another. Panting through the anger that was coursing through them both like lava.

“006, 008, that is _ENOUGH!_ ”

Heath shouted. 006 turned harshly on her sexy heels and stalked away from the man, back to her position at the head of the table opposite Heath. 008 watched her go. He couldn't tell if through his lust and anger whether he wantedto _do_  her, or wanted to _kill_ her. 

He then turned to face Heath, and did nothing but set his mouth in a grim line, looking back across to his boss.

“I have had enough of this childish vendetta you two have levelled towards each other through your years in the field. It is unprofessional, and although you are both incredibly fine Agents in your own stead. I’d prefer it if you would bury the rotten hatchet and try to get along. We don’t need great Agents, we need a great _team_ of Agent’s. And as I was saying before your interrupted me, 008. I see there is only one solution to this problem, as well as a solution to the Montenegro poker game…”

Heath snarled at his employees. Who stood still and tight lipped against his rant.

“Tell me, 004, 008, out of the both of you. Which is the most eager card player?”

Heath asked.

“That would be 008, Sir.”

Williams admitted. He detested cards. He never understood the reasons for gambling with them. 

"Yes. Sir. 004 hates cards. I'm the most skilled card player in the Bureau..."

Hunter added.

Heath _grinned_. No one at work had ever _seen_ him grin. 

“Excellent..”

He beamed.

“Sir?”

Frost asked cautiously. She didn't like where this was heading...

He levelled her his coldest stare.

“You and 008 will pose undercover, as Man and Wife, and Hunter, will buy into the Montenegro Poker Game. Your brief is to prevent Lessheart, or Crane, or anyone else for that matter from winning the £100 million prize...”

Heath ordered.

“No.”

Frost bit out without a moments hesitation. She didn't even care that she was dismissing an order from her direct superior. And that said a lot. She _always_  - without fail - followed commands that were given to her.  

At the same time of which 008 let loose a startled and snapped ‘ _What_?” directed at his boss.

“That’s ridiculous. You post me as his wife, I don’t care what the stakes are if we loose, if I have to pose as his wife for more than an hour, I’ll _kill_ him. I won’t do it…”

Frost growled savagely, before she turned on her heel, crossed to the door, shoved it open so angrily, 004 was amazed the glass didn’t break. And they watched as the red head clad in black stormed angrily away. The sound of her heels slowly disappeared from their audible range.

Heath looked across to 008. Their hatred for each other ran deep. 

“You know what the stakes are if we loose this, Hunter. Lessheart will no doubt trigger a massacre, and Crane will have even more funds to sell drugs and arms to rich powerful people.”

Heath informed him.

“Then. I’ll take Agent…. Um, Agent Campbell. Surely she could pose as my wife, rather than Frost, Sir, Please?…”

008 begged. - he had never _begged_ for anything in his life - but right then, he wasn't below grovelling on his knees to escape such torture. come to think of it, that was the first time Heath had ever heard 008 use the word. He clearly detested 006 _that_ much.

“Campbell is trained for nothing but Intelligence gathering, 008. _Not_ undercover field work. Frost is the most highly skilled female agent we have for this mission. Plus she already possesses all the information in regards to the case…”

Heath explained.

“She _won’t_ work with _me_. And to be brutally honest, Sir. I _don’t_ work well with _her_..”

008 ground out in a low growl. Hands resting on his hips as his stance was annoyed and irritated to the most _extreme_ degree.

“She will, 008, you will force her too. Because she is, hands down, the best we’ve got…”

Heath steeled.

“With Respect, Sir….”

Hunter began, but Heath cut the man off.

“ _One_ more thing Hunter…”

Heath shouted above the din.

“One more thing... Frost will do this mission. And I’ll tell you _why_ she’ll do it.”

He repeated moving closer to 008, squaring up to tower over him so he knew who was in charge here.

“… She’ll do it, because if you don’t get Frost to cooperate and go undercover with you. I won’t only have you fired from this service faster than you can even have time to think about it, But I will also hand your ass over to the Secret Service, and they will not only kill you, they’ll _destroy_ you, 008. Consider this your final straw in odes to your tardiness, your lack of concentration on the job, and your penchant for disobeying strict orders. Your life, your reputation, and your job, are on the line and it is all down to 006’s cooperation on this mission. How’s that for your _dark_ irony?”

Heath mumbled lowly. 

“Understand this, 008. Convince 006 to pose undercover with you. Or you will be ejected from MI6. Do I make myself _clear?_ ”

Heath asked. His silver were eyes hot and impatient. His voice told everyone who was in charge. 

 

008 sighed, closing his eyes for long slow second. Before he opened them again. And levelled his boss an icy glare. 

 

“Yes. Sir.” He growled tersely.

 

 

-


	8. Intruders

 

 

 

~ Frost Townhouse ~

 

 

 

 ~ Hunter's snappy sense of dress for this chapter ~

 

 

It was dark now. And 008 watched as the sleek car that had driven him here, performed a sharp U-Turn and sped away. He was unfamiliar with this part of Belgravia. Streets lined with overwhelmingly posh townhouses either side of him. Each one looking the same as the next. All he had to go on, was the small scrap of paper in his hands, which had an address messily scrawled on it.

He had had to do some _serious_ charming and flirting with the cute blonde in HR to sponge this address off her from Frost’s personal file. He would never tell the red head, because she would _slaughter_ him. But as the gushing and beet red blonde receptionist had slid away to find the file, he had taken two seconds to slot his personal pen drive into her computer’s USB, and download the file, hacking past the internal firewall to access it. Saving it to his own memory drive before she came back with the address for him. He had given her his most melting grin that left her quite stupid, and sauntered away. USB safely in his pocket, and ordering a car to take him home, so he could change and freshen up, and then it would take him to the random street in Belgravia which, _apparantly_ , was where the townhouse which belonged to Agent Frost was.

He had searched high and low for her around HQ, for hours. He checked every Library, board room, the gym, the research labs, _hell_ , even the _ruddy_ basement. But to no avail. The day wore on, and before he knew it, five o’clock had rolled around. Tinting the London day into a blue evening. He put his hands up in surrender. He went home early, knowing the search for her was far from over.

Normally he could find someone who was evading him quicker than a flash. But the problem was, he knew the patterns of the vigilantes he was trained to track down. What he knew _nothing_ about, however, was Agent Frost.

He didn’t know a thing. Not _a one_.  Not how old she was, Not her height, Interests. _Nothing_. He thought he heard 004 mention her first name once. It was Vivienne. He remembers.  _Heck_ , he didn’t even know where abouts she lived in London. Frost truly was such a mystery of a woman, to him. 

After throwing his body into the shower, he then redressed himself in a dark jacket, a polo neck, and grey tweed style trousers, with soft soled shoes on his feet. Slinging his gun to the back of his waistband, just in case, _it was Frost after all._ He supposed. T’was _always_ better to be armed when facing the woman, he learned. She was easier to bargain with when he was able to point his Smith and Wesson 22A at her forehead, and know she wouldn't come across him unprepared and unarmed.

After putting the finishing touches to his dark appearance, which included sweeping his unruly hair back off his face, and splashing a small dab of cologne on his cheeks. This was all because Frost had a nose like a dog and eyes like a hawk, and he figured he didn’t need to give her any more amunition than she _already_ would find against him.

He had changed, and showered due to the fact that one, it had been a long day, and two, the suit he had worn all day, today, _reeked_ of last nights lover. And besides. He had seen her sense as such, earlier, in the debriefing.  Frost had a _scrupulous_ set of eyes that could comb out _any_ imperfection on him. Like on the night of the 'Eyepatch' mission the evening before, how she had winced in detecting traces of Aurora’s - foul - perfume on his suit, and her lipstick on his neck, even from _ten feet_ away.

He sauntered out of his house in Marylebone, to the waiting car, and not twenty minutes later, here he was. Peering up at the huge stretch of townhouse, the white marble washed blue under the cold night that was ebbing in on fast feet across London now. He shoved the crumpled ball of paper down deep in his pockets. House number 13. Ironically. He thought, an unlucky number, for _his_ sake. 

He clattered his way silently up the marble victorian tiled steps, still looking up at the large house, seeing whether or not there was any sign of life throughout, He could make out a window right at the top left of the house had dull light shining out through the sheer curtains. He smiled wryly. 

 _Found you, at Last. Frost._ He thought. 

 His eyes then darted about the front porch, looking for his way in. Which, eventually, he found.

By sliding his hand under the rim of one of the plant pots that sat to the left of her front door. He chuckled to himself.

“Such an _easy_ security breach 006. Ought to be more careful as an MI6 Agent. And _here_ I _thought_ _better_ of you…”

He spoke to himself, and partly to her. As he noiselessly slid the key into the lock, and twisted, letting himself sneakily into the house, thowing the key back into the plant where he had found it. Lucky for him, she kept her door hinges well oiled. So he slid in without making a sound. His shoes barely echoed on the floor, and his clothes barely made a rustle as he moved.

He took a second after shutting himself in the house. It was a _huge_ place. And even though it was dark, the scope of the interior surprised him. It was so, _elegant_. Not that he expected it not to be. Frost was always _ruthlessly_ well dressed, _always_ sexy, and _always_ groomed. So it follows that her house would be as such.

“ _Nice digs,_ Frost..”

He congraulates her in a low voice, and an impressed smile. Because the house was just so  _huge_ , and decorated with the utmost modern edge taste. But not in a cold way. It felt like a _home_ , it felt warm. Which astounded him. If you met Frost, Warm and Homely is not two words that would spring to mind in regards to the woman.

Maybe it was just because he expected her machine/ice cold robot/unemotive/cold hearted Russian temperament to bleed into her lifestyle. When he pictured her home - not that he devoted much time to thinking about where she lived at all - but he pictured her living in a sleek modern apartment in Canary Wharf. All glass dominated, clinical, and sparse. Baron almost. Just like her personality. With very few, if no, personal objects adorning shelves or tables. Just bare essentials. A very minimalist space for the minimalist woman.

But _one_ glimpse inside her polished townhouse hallway, blew that theory _right out_ of the water for him.

He always expected her to live in a cutting edge modern apartment at the top of some glass and steel dominated tower like the gherkin, and to have everything coloured silver, mashing together in one long expanse of grey to coincide with her desolate taste. Like the apartments you saw in Star Trek films.

But, No. apparantly he woud be proven wrong by Frost. A _s per sodding usual._

It was, dare he say it, it was _nice._

And he never thought anything which was associated with Frost could _ever be nice_.

In odes to her name he thought her home would look the same, she was a ruthless machine. A great Agent. A killer in _Killer_ high heels. Nothing more, to him. He never would have estimated in a million years she would be a woman of taste and soft elegance when it came to her home decor. Yet, she was.

It was all white imperial wooden staircase, and white washed walls, the feature wall being beige and cream striped wallpaper. With the only dark colour to it being the victorian beige and black tiled floor. She had cushioned benches dotted under a curving archway opposite the stairs. And fresh Calla Lillies in a vase on the hallway table. Placed to the bottom of an ornate white edged mirror. A crystal chandelier hung elegantly from the ceiling like drops of suspended rain. 

He moved closer to the hallway table, smelling the sickly sweet fragrance of the flowers to know they were fresh. At the rate of all their six figured matched salaries as Band 8’s, he wagered she could afford fresh ones each day, should she wish.

He tilted his head, smiling as he got closer to the table. There was a little ceramic bowl. Filled with keys and various bits and pieces. Lost buttons from various coats and trousers, a safety pin or two, the odd coin. And there, nestled in the middle, a yellow post it, reminding her of ‘hair at 8:30’, whatever that meant she needed, and lastly, there was a tube of bright red Dior lipstick nestled amongst the debris.

Oddly, he's not sure why. But he could imagine her scrutinizing her reflection before she left in the morning. Fluffing up her red hair, smearing on her lipstick that she wore like armour to face the world, and let it know she was danger, sexy, ruthless, skilled, and everything more. Before she sashayed out of the door, to a waiting car, and then to go to work. To do her job. And do it well. And that thought makes him smile...

He tore his eyes away, fading out from his reverie, coming to now, what he see’s is her lounge, with her small study closed off from it by large white double doors. Housing a couple of white wingback vintage chairs and a small glass coffee tabe facing her desk, looking out over the beautifully full garden at the back of the house. Her living area only astounded him further, it was _colourful_. He didn’t think the stony cold woman knew what _colour was._ It was a soft muted grey, housing a huge purple sofa, a plump Dior book had been left open on the footstool. Indicating it was a book she was halfway through. The sofa itself stood on an expensive patterned rug which looked worn and soft by the years of feet that had trod over it. Again, he sees more vases of fresh flowers were dotted about this room aswell. Fat pink peonies sat in a vase by the window, making the place seem light and fresh, and the air ever more fragrant.

He shook his head in bewilderment, yet he was still smiling at his astonishment of it all. And at how _little_ he knew of her. He's known her for nearly going on eight years now. And clearly. He'd only just _scratched_ the surface of her personality.   

Moving on to the other rooms in her house. He crossed out into the hallway again, slowly taking his time so his shoes didn’t make a single noise on her floors.

He came into the kitchen, seeing that she had quite a view into a bustling, healthy green garden that the London Winter would slowly pluck apart from now on. But aside from that, he could even see her Kitchen reflected her tasteful elegant and soft style. The large island in the centre had, surprise surprise, flowers loitering in a large glass vase. White orchids this time, and they were stood next to a opened bottle of red wine, and a half full glass of the dark red stuff, her crimson lipstick mark sat on the rim of the glass, telling him she was here alone, after all, and, apparantly, she enjoyed drinking, he squinted down at the bottle, reading the label... Seeing she liked fine bouqueted 2008 merlot, from Italy.

Lining the walls opposite the huge rustic oven were copper pots and pans, aswell as bottles of cooking oil and ingredients. And that was another thing, cooking. He could not imagine his cut-thoat colleague doing something as domesticated as cooking. He had seen her, _literally,_ destroy people with her own hands, shot gun’s to kill, use knifes in self defence to wound villains with, cutting people. Somehow, the image of her whipping up a Sunday roast Chicken, dressed an apron and oven gloves, is a sight that _does not compute_ , to him.

To his wry mind, he imagines Frost fed herself a diet of the blood of scarificed virgins, ice, and straight strong vodka.

He couldn’t imagine the woman having cravings for things like chocolate, or junk food as most normal people did. He stepped further into her kitchen, his shoes making the slightest scuffle against her dark wooden floor. He winced, tilting his head slowly round to see if she would come marching angrily down the stairs to accost whomever the intruder was in her home.

He steps forward again, tension panging free from his shoulders, as he is assured he won’t get caught until _he wants_ to find _her_ , after sweeping curiously through her home. It wasn't every day he got an opportunity to silently explore something about his red headed, emotionally sealed off, colleague, without her getting wind of it.

He was an Agent, by nature, it was just his _way_ to want to _sneakily_ obtain information on persons of interest without their knowledge of him doing so.

He took barely one step forwards before he is proven wrong about his cocky arrogance of being proud at the fact he had managed to sneak into her home, un-noticed.

Because. It appears. He hadn't managed to _not_ be discovered after all...

A harsh clip to the back of his knees is what he feels first, and it makes him crumple slightly, but he stoops, as he managed to remain on his feet, turning about, but before he could register it and fight back, there came a fist as hard as concrete ploughing into the side of his mouth, and then hitting his nose, making his teeth clash together, and his eyes dance with bursting stars across his vision. He grunts, in pain, whilst trying to twist himself around.

But as he does, he feels quick nimble hands whip his gun straight out the back of his waistband. He stumbles, and straigtens to see Frost facing him. Face set grimly in rage, those gorgeous full lips of hers set in an unamused line. Her eyes looking like _ice_ to him as she stared him down. Pointing her own semi automatic, _he grinned through his pain at this,_ her own _Russian_ pistol at his chest. Typical Frost. 

It was an arsenal strike one firearm. A 9x19 parabellum cartridge. He noted.

He stumbled back on his feet, chuckling as he threw his arms up in surrender, his tongue touching to the place on his lip where her fist had grazed, but still managed to bust a small cut onto his mouth. She watched as his sneaky tongue tipped away the coppery tang of blood. And he grinned that cocky smirk across to her still, even though she’d just beaten his face in.

“Ok, _Ok..Ok_ ….”

He chuckled, in disbelief, hands still over his head.

“I’m sorry. _You’re right, I’m sorry_. I shouldn’t have done that. I should _not_ have come in… I’m sorry…”

He laughed. Half in uneasy amusement, half in fear of whether or not she would _actually_ indulge in her lifes wish to _shoot_ him.

His eyes delighted, _wickedly,_ though, at what state they found her in.

Her hair was down, and curled flawlessly, and she still had her smouldering sharp black eye make up on that she'd donned earlier. The scarlet lipstick had gone. But what made him sneer, was that she was dressed in only a short blood red silk dressing gown, barefoot too, no daggering heels on her feet.

She looked soft, and curvy, and as _sexy as fuck._

The gown was tied so tight at her waist that it divided her body into sinful peaks of hourglass shapes. He could see her slim waist, and how far up her long legs went. And how had he never quite noticed before how mouth wateringly _lovely_ her breasts looked? He thought as he inspected the things under the thin silk of her gown.

 _Oh god,_ he bit his lip smiling wickedly, _if she was naked underneath, he didn’t know if he was turned on_ _or ashamed_ by that. Because that meant that,  _He. Rex Hunter. Had just had his ass handed to him by a woman wearing barely anything at all. And who was quite possibly stark bollock naked under what little she did have on._  

 _And the worst part_?.... _He may have liked it…_

_He may have liked it a LOT._

“What the _fucking hell_ are you doing in my _home_ , 008?”

She snapped angrily.

“Were you in _the Shower_ , Frost?”

He asked silkily. His eyes turned sexy and hot.

She tilted her head. Her glare warning him _not to go_ where he was _going_. She watched as his eyes took in the longer than long pale length of her naked, shaven legs.

And _he smiled,_ _wantonly._

“It’s the _deepest_ Shame, that I didn’t get up there _soon_ enough to find you alone. Wet, hot, and  _naked_ …”

He flirted. Hands still above his head, a tip of blood leading down from his cheek making him look like a dirty and scruffy rascal. His blue eyes were on _fire_ for her. 

She ground her jaw together. By all rights she _could_  just shoot him and claim accidental man slaughter to the oaf who broke into her house.

He watched as her finger effortlessly found the magazine release, and he watched as she unlatched it, making it drop to the floor all several bullets scattered in every which direction across her polished wooden floor. Some rolled across and ricocheted off his shoes.

She then angrily lobbed the empty useless gun across to him, which he swerved to - barely - catch, she lowered her own pistol.

“ _Get out_ …”

She bit off stormily, turning on her heel, her pistol in hand as she walked slowly back across her dark hall, heading up the stairs away from him.

“You don’t want to know why I’m here? intruding in your home…breaking and entering?….”

He asked, one brow raising as he was trying to rile her. Seeing that it evidently _didn’t work_.

She carried on stalking away from him, across her echoing hallway to the dark stairs.

“Not particularly. No. I’d be most grateful If You’d get _the fuck out_ of it, though..”

She explained, sashaying her way up.

 _Hating_  the fact that his eyes would probably cling straight to her ass, and try to peek under her gown as she ascended the staircase up and away from him.

"And, another thing, how the _bloody hell_ did you get in?.."

She asked, turning to face the man.  

He grinned. 

"You're a band 8, awarded with class six honours, double 0 class Agent. Frost. Even you should know _better_ than to hide your spare keys in such an obvious place as the plant pot by the front door..." He admonished. 

She made a noise that resembled a _growl_. He was sure. 

"Don't you dare chide _me_ , about security 008. When as it stands, I recall I wasn't the one who blew a six month operation in Columbia to romp about in bed with a Brazillian lingerie model.."

She pointed out. Walking away. She knew _all_ his dirty little secrets. Mostly because she had been the one mopping up after his messy operations as he screwed up mission after mission, all for want of a hot shag. And getting away with  _not_  performing his job. 

"So you _don't_ want to hear me out?"

He offered. 

"No. I'd like to hear you, _get out,_ though..."

She snapped back. Her wit in fine form. 

He sighed. He didn't have the luxury of letting her walk away. No matter how badly he wished to see the back of the infuriating woman. No. Not this time...

This time. He couldn't afford it...

“Come on. You’re a remarkably intelligent woman, Frost. You _must know,_  why I’m here…”

He spoke, paying her a compliment and watching with hunger as her peachy ass sauntered up her stairs across from him. He didn’t care that right then she could have been costing him his job, and life. Because, right at that moment, all he could think of was:  _Damn, she had one bloody fine ass._

“ _Oh_. Now. _Let me think_. Something to do with you _depserately_ needing _me_ to pose undercover with you, as your wife, on the Montenegro case…”

She guessed correctly in a carefree afterthought as she was now halfway up the stairs, wanting to get as _far away_ from him as humanly possible, as _quickly_ as was possible.

“Yes _. I do, I do need you_ …”

"Take another gullible Female Agent. All of them would _leap_ at the chance to act out being Mrs Rex Hunter."

She offered. 

"You don't understand. It _has_ to be _you_. As much as I'd like it to be someone else, more amiable. It _can't be_. This is on Heaths instruction, Frost. Everyone at MI6 knows _you_ are the best woman at this job, and for this job... You were _made_ for this mission..." 

He ground out as he looked up at her from down the bottom of the stairs. He watched in horror as she carried on walking off, as if he wasn’t there.

 _Damn her_ , he was going to have to tell her the truth to get her cooperation after all. He had feared as much.

“You should have thought of that before behaving like a self-absorbed _wanker_ , as per usual…” 

She bit off, her tone short and precise.

“Frost…”

He called after her, she noticed his tone was different now. It was, _lord help the man_ , did he know he almost sounded _sincere_ now?

He licked his lips, not able to believe he had sunk so low as to have to let the next words come out of his mouth…

“Frost... _Please?....”_

He swallowed gravely.

She stopped at that. 

Did her ears just _trick_ her? or was she just graced with the sound of 008 _begging her,_ falling upon her auditory senses? The man didn’t do sorry _. Ever_ , he probably didn’t know what sorry was. Or in what context to use it. And that, that _tiny little_ word, coming from the man who bedded married women and gave no care to those who knew he did, or to the consequences of those conquests, saying _‘Please’_ was, admittedly, the single most terrifying and _huge_ thing of all. He _must_ have needed her, just based on  _that_ alone.

She turned on the stairs, bracing her hand on the banister, and looking back down at him, facing him side on. As he edged to the first step at the bottom of the stairs.

“Heath has assured me that I will no doubt be instantly  _fired, and then killed_ , If I do not get you to cooperate with me, on this mission…”

He spoke genteely, but every bit as seriously.

She blinked, her eyes shifting into something that nearly resembled empathy.

“Look…”

He added in a flat tone.

“…I know you hate these orders, probably about as much as you _hate_ _me_ , and may I point out I’m not entirely fond of them either. Frankly, there are poisonous _snakes_ out there with better personalities than yours…” He leered.

She twitched a perfectly arched brow at him.

“Careful. 008. You need _me,_ _a lot more_ than I need _you_ right now…”

She warned stiffly. Back was that placid and detatched Russian façade she had grown up with for all those years.

And even he knew him slandering her, when he needed her assistance, would get him _nowhere_. 

“If you let me finish, I was going to say that you will very probably end up stabbing me in the back with the nearst blunt weapon because you can’t stand to work with a self-obsessed twat like me, for a week undercover, as my wife, and that’s _fine_. But can I just point out that working with me undercover for a week is something which is very worthwile, to you… You need this too, just as much as I do...”

He pointed out.

“Oh.  _I’m sure_  I do…”

She scoffed in pure, undiluted disbelief.

“It’ll be worthwile, Frost, to give us a fighting chance to ensure that Lessheart doesn’t get his hands on the £100 million to help go some way to funding a massacre that could kill millions of women, men and children. Or letting it go to Crane, even…” He pointed out.

She shut her eyes and sighed. Hating to her very bones that he was right. He had her _stuck_ in that regard. 

“...Your parent’s were killed by a group as equally as powerful as the one Artemis Crane has amassed in Cuba. What’s to say with those poker winnings that he won’t go on taking more people’s parents from them, like they took yours….”

He pointed out.

Her eyes snapped open. 

“ _Oh_ , you’ve read my _bloody_   _bollocking_ file haven’t you? You…”

She accused angrily. Cutting herself off.

“Frost.”

He spoke.

008 gave her a look, then. Raising his brows. Needing and wanting her confirmation on this matter.

She sighed.

“I’m going to regret saying ' _yes_ ' to this for _the rest_ of my life, aren’t I?..”

She asked.

“Probably..”

He grinned up to her.

“I _didn’t_ require an answer to that, 008…”

She bit off in an all knowing tone as she turned back around, climbing her stairs once again.

“Call me Rex, dear _wifey_ …”

He winked up at her, seeing she twisted her head to catch the flirty move. She stopped to glare down at him at that.

“You know, 008, if you so much as get _one inch_ south on the wrong side of my nerves, then I will sign off the mission, and come back home faster than you can comprehend. And you, will be sacked, and _dead_ faster than I can snap my fingers. Are we clear on that?”

She ordered.

“Clear as Crystal, My _darling_ …”

He smooched up to her.

“Now. Get that sexy ass  _down_ here, Frost, and I’ll give you _a proper_ _thank-you_ for agreeing to do this mission…”

He offered, waggling his brows. She was _naked_ , after all. Best he make good use of that. 

Frost sighed angrily. Giving him a snippy, _I’m-rapidly-loosing-my-patience,_ look. She shook her head, turning her back to him as she started to climb once again.

“..And _so help me_ , 008, if you bed another woman whilst we’re there, undercover, then I sware _to god…_ ”

She started.

His chuckle made her words drown in her mouth.

“Now why would I take another woman, when I have a _stunningly_ sexy wife of _your_ calibre on my arm, and in my bed. Not to mention, _my wife_ has a _smokin_ ’ body that most men would _kill_ to wriggle on…”

He flirted with ease, resting one elbow up on the banister.

Back was he to the cocky ass she knew him as, he had put his self absorbed armour back up in place.

“.. And may I just say. I have a rather delectable view  _up_ your gown from here, and I’m _loving_ the sight of what I see,  _far too much_ to ever want to cheat on you…”

He charmed.

“You're  _disgusting_ …”

She growled, nearly dissapearing quickly out of sight now at the landing.

“Been called many things, Frost. But that has _never_ made the list…”

He offered.

“ _Get out_ of my house, now, 008, You’ve got assurance of _your_ bargain.”

She shouted down.

“Debriefing, and Allocation of Identity. Friday at 12. I trust I’ll see you then?”

He asked.

“I trust _you’ll_ be _late_ …”

She parried back.

He laughed at that.

“Only because I know how much it vexes you, dear heart, and you get that _adorable_ little _wrinkle_ in between your eyebrows when you frown at me like you want to kill me…”

He spoke kindly. Little did he know, the sound of him having confessed he had scrutinized her beauty at some point, made her stop in her tracks on the landing.

 _Surely he couldn’t be swayed into romance by her?_ It would take a woman of some discernable power and amazement to get 008 to stop chasing after tail. She’d like to see such a woman. She imagined that person would be a _fearsome thing to behold. Indeed._

“ _Go home_. 008. Haven’t you got some blonde bimbo waiting patiently at your door like a trained poodle?”

She asked. Shouting down.

He smiled in odes to that.

“Sweet dreams, 006. Enjoy that shower. I know _I’ll_ be thinking about _you, naked, soapy and alone_ in it for the rest of the night…”

He drawled up to her.

“Go away, lest I lodge a bullet in your brain…”

She snapped.

“I _love_ it when you talk _dirty to me, honey_ …”

He purred back loudly, as he got to her front door and slipped out of it. Granting Frost her wish.

 

 


	9. Mr. & Mrs.

 

Mr & Mrs Steele

 

  

 

 **CLASSIFIED FILE.** /// ** _ID ALLOCATION_** /// **MISSION BRIEF**

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -////For Head of MI6 and participating Agent’s eyes only////- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**////////////Destroy once studied/////////////**

**\- - - Operation Trinity - - -**

**Brief:** To prevent the winnings of the Montenegro Casino stakes end up in the wrong hands.

 **Mission Class:** Undercover Field work. Detect and Prevention _ONLY, 008._

 **Operatives:** Hunter - 008, Williams - 004, and Frost - 006.

Enclosed within are the details of each agents identity allocation that is to be adhered to all the while when undercover. Strictly.

As for Operation Trinity, Hunter and Frost are grouped as a newly wedded couple, their allocation is grouped as one.

(Which I know will make 006 rather angry, and 008 rather smug, but this could not be helped. – _sincere_ apologies 006 - and try not to kill him. Woe betide the man, but, on this one occasion he is actually for _needed_ this mission)

 

 

**////ID ALLOCATION FOR HUNTER AND FROST:////**

**Name(s):** Jasper Orion Steele and Selina Herrington-Steele.

 **008, DOB:** Jasper Orion Steele was born in London, 10 th of July, 1968. Grew up into a wealthy family in Knightsbridge. Father, Harrington Oxley Steele, own’s many oversea’s oil rigs in Australia. Mother, Valentina Harper Steele, is deputy chairwoman of the Women’s Debutante Society. Incredibly wealthy people. Jasper now works under his father in the company, as near enough a CEO of the industry, whilst his father is retiring this year.

 **006 DOB:** Selina Herrington-Steele was born Selina Herrington into the renound Herrington Corporation. The multi million pound company run out of canary wharf by her father. Sir Oswald Herrington.Her mother, Georgette Dorothea Herrington died three years after she was born. Leaving the woman very indebted to her fathers care. Very much devoted to her father. He hopes to leave the buisness to her when he passes. She was so enamoured to her father that she even kept the Herrington surname in marriage to Jasper.

 **Other Information:** Jasper and Selina met in London, at the London Arts Gala dinner a year ago. They fell madly, and head over heels in love, and on her birthday in april, Steele Proposed. They were married in summer on the beach in Cape Cod in a private ceremony. Selina’s father own’s a house in Martha’s Vineyard. The pair honeymooned in Dubai, before returning home to London to work at their separate jobs. They live in a £5.6 million townhouse in Mayfair. With their dog, Gatsby. They sometimes vacation to the Steele’s family castle in Scotland for long weekends. They have no children as of yet.

 **Act:** A madly in love and newly wedded couple. (Sorry, again, 006.) The Steele’s are unable to keep their hands and eyes off each other. - (so that means _NO_ wandering eyes 008. You have to look madly devoted to your wife, otherwise Lessheart/Crane will smell a rat. And please  do not use this instruction to touch or handle Frost in a way that will mean she pulls her gun out on you)

The Steele’s are very powerful, wealthy and generous people. They give millions to various charirties each year. Jasper does have a weak spot for cards and roulette tables. But nothing that gets him in over his head. Selina however, is an avid patron of the arts, she gives generous donations to all the art museums in London. And did her masters in art history, at Magdalen college in Oxford. He did his masters in buisness management and economics at Harvard. Mr Steele is a keen sportsman, he enjoys polo, golf, swimming, and running. Mrs Steele is more of a homely woman at heart, her hobbies include baking, reading, visiting museums and shopping.

They decided to attend the Montenegro game for a short holiday away from work, and wish to donate half of the winnings to childrens charity. Mr Steele will participate in the game, Mrs Steele will not. She will be there purely to support her husband – as they are **so** enamoured of each other that it’s unthinkable for them to spend any amount of time apart – and she will also slyly assist Williams (who bears the name of Nicholas Gates for this mission) on intel gathering and surveillance, whilst Steele joins in the game, trying his best to win. Frost will be all eyes and ears, and firepower, and will furthermore act as agent provacateur of distraction for all the players on the table.

 

 ** _Final Note from Heath:_** Remember the brief Agents….

Lessheart and Crane must NOT win, no matter what the odds. Williams, do the best damn intel gathering you’ve ever done. I know you are capable of great work. Impress me. And Frost. Keep a level head, remember what the mission end result entails if you find Hunter becomes a particularly annoying prick about this all.

Play well Hunter. And for gods sake, don’t annoy Frost into killing you. The paperwork for your death whilst in the field would just be astronimical..

Best of Luck Agents. Do her Majesty’s secret service proud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Trains

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

For once, in his adult life. Hunter was early, and Frost, the usually punctual I-never-miss-a-beat woman, was late to their 11:00am ren dez vouz at the train station.

As soon as he arrived, he mumbled his new powerful name, Jasper Steele, to the train’s porter, and within a second, his monogrammed with his initial’s luggage was set to be stowed, and he was graciously ushered into his and his wife’s first class cabin on board the train to Milan. It was an impressive suite, he favoured, decorated in posh shades of warm greys and muted colours, clearly all at the hands of some lofty designer. And the staff were ruthlessly well trained here too. The porter who showed him in, had _bowed_ in politesse after he left him. Which Hunter regarded with an elegant smirk of his, grinning that wry sideways smile to himself, as he undid his jacket and reclined decadantly on the posh velvet grey chaise lounge that was adjacent to the sliding door. So as he could make a snarking remark to Frost about her punctuality when she eventually elected to show herself.

He sighed, tapping his foot away in the air. It was quarter past now, the train left at quarter to twelve. What was taking the ruddy mare so damn long? He put away his silver watch fob that had belonged to his grandfather, engraved with the family name, ‘Steele’ supposedly it was an heirloom that had been passed down as a ‘tradition’ in his family. He tucked the sentimental object that had nothing to do with him back into his pocket. It was a nice trinket, he’d admit, he made a note to pocket it when this mission was done with. His suit, or, rather he should say, Jasper’s suits, were a style that mirrored his own trend. Modern, with a cut that was nothing other than striking. The soft charcoal grey saville row fabriced suit was resilient, and noticeable. Much like the man inside it. The soft colour left his hair and eye colour to stand out, and his tailor assured him it would not drain his skin tone, like black could tend to do.

The whole thing was thrown into a shade of undeniable wealth when he teemed the suit, and his effortlessly groomed appearance with a pressed linen shirt, under a light grey waistcoat, and even lighter icy grey tie knotted expertly in a windsor about his neck. And diamond and solid silver cufflinks glittering by his wrists. The strap of the watch fob linked across his front, tucked away into a pocket, and his Versace brogues were polished to within an inch of their life.

He had smiled in pure irony when Smithy, his tailor, had asked what colour tie he had wanted to bring the whole ensemble together, presenting him with three options, which he ended up buying all of which anyway, but he smirked when he heard the name of the third one that was shown to him. The first, the scarlet one had been oxblood red, and was in fact called ‘Rich Blood’, the second, was a deep dark grey, called ‘Power Grey’ but the third, the one he wore now, was called ‘Icy Frost.’ And he knew he had to have it, as he thought in odes to his make believe wife, for now.

He crossed his legs, impatiently running his tongue along his teeth as he flipped idly through a magazine about travel, and holiday’s away in Italy. When he heard the long run of carpet at the end of the carriage creak as someone walked along it. He could hear strong treads, a man’s smooth soled shoes glide gently along the rug. Followed closely by the softer, neater strides which perfectly matched the  nimble sound of a woman. He looked up to the door, just in time for it to slide open, and for two or three porter’s filing in with expensive leather Greenwood, black and white trimmed luggage. All of which bore a loopy ‘SHS’ branded onto each one. Two more men filed in, arms laden down with luggage and suit carriers, swept across to the bedroom and fluently, as if it were a fine art to master, placed all of the cases where they should be. And just as quick as they had arrived, they painlessly fled out again. Hunter smirked as he saw the familiar stretch of his colleague darken the doorway.

“You took your time _, darling._ ”

He spoke, keeping up this pretence, drinking the sight of her in. Because, _‘Oh, my. Mrs Steele…’_ was all he could think. He made another mental note to send a solemn vow of thanks to whatever high elegant designer was responsible for the wicked little number she had sported for him.

Topping those lethal legs, were a set of killer looking red soled, sexy as you like, nude heels that all men would fall prey too. Even men as powerful and lofty as he, because they were shoes that informed him that the woman wearing them, knew she looked like walking sex and attitude. The way they shimmered in the light told him they were timmed with a few jewels and stones that would be the only girly thing about her sense of style. Frost wasn’t girly and cute, at all. Matter of fact, at times she could be nearly masculine to his mind. Her wardobe reflected this style. Her style. Her edgy cut-throat, ruthless russian, cold blooded, style.

His eyes swayed up past her pale smooth bare legs that looked wonderfully long and alluring. Up, and up, to rest on the modest hem of her tight snowy white skirt, which cut diagonally, that showed him the beautiful way in which the dress was cut high up her thigh, but then gathered to cling the white material close about her waist. It looked like a dress, but he delighted in seeing that it could be undone like a wrap round trench coat. But the wide train of it that fell down the back of her legs, did not hide how splendidly it highlighted her ample curves to his eyes.

The collar of it gaped wide to reveal the tops of her pale breasts and her milk skinned clavicle, she had one single item of jewellry linked about her fine, swan like neck. A thick silver statement piece, dotted all over with fat swarovski crystals and diamonds. It rested gently on her chest like a thick beacon collar of blue blood wealth. Dripping down from her ears also, were more of swarovaki’s finest jewel’s. Glittering daintily about her lobes, either side of her pale face. Of which was dressed up just as prettily as the rest of her. She was pale as ever, but with the difference of a layer of dark red lipstick, the Dior one which he had seen in her house, he wagered. And her eyelids were lightened with shimmery beige that made her blue eyes spring out in their vibrancy. Her hair was coiled and curled elegantly, and he expected no less. He knew that if he got closer to her, those fiery flame curls would feel like silk, and she would smell deliciously of jimmy choo perfume, as she did always.

“Sorry, dear.”

She smiled, her smile warm, and her icy blue eyes soft and loving as she strode her fine way into the carriage to join him.

He stood to greet her, making her feel like an importance. And not a chore. Like he did usually. He came to her just as she placed her white hermes leather bag down onto the armchair next to him. Hating how she could see his eyes silently devouring her.

“..You know what Father’s like, I can’t seem to go away for a weekend without him assuring me that the company will fall to bits as soon as I step foot out of the door..”

She explained with a gentle slope of her beautiful smile, moving intimately close to him in a way that made her skin crawl.

But he welcomed her intimacy act, as much as he disdained having the ice cold baron woman near him. Part of him was smirking like mad at the fact that she would have to let him make advances as they were to act as man and wife.

He lovingly reached over to place one hand down on her right hip, curling her close as he carted her red fringe out of her face. Back away from her forehead.

“Well, you’re here now, that’s all that matters to me…”

He purred lovingly, leaning close to brush a soft kiss to her cheek. He looked back over her shoulder to see then that the last porter had finally slid easily out of the room. Sliding the door shut behind him in his orderly wake.

As soon as they both heard the latch click, their loving gazes were replaced with cold glares, and the smiles faded to perfect humourless masks once more.

“You’re late.”

Hunter remarked with barely restrained impatience.

“Make’s a refreshing change from it being you then, doesn’t it 008…” She retorted

“I think I preferred you when you were all airs, graces and love…”

Hunter remarked drily, watching as she slunk away from him, skirting around the coffee table as fast as she was able. His eyes glued to that fabulous ass she had on her.

“I’m good at playing pretend, Hunter, but I don’t value your existence enough to have to exhaust myself being with civil to the likes of you 24/7..” She bristled.

Hunter snorted air violently out his nostrils in a scoff of disbelief.

“ _Ohhh, ouch.”_

He winced, pretending to be hurt deep by her words.

“Never knew you had such a dirty mouth on you, wife. Tell me. Do you kiss your husband with those lips?” He remarked drily.

“Over my dead body am I ever kissing _you_.”

She threw poisonously over her shoulder as she padded through to the bedroom.

“I believe kissing me is in your job description, for this operation. Frost.” He smirked with a smug smile.

He heard no violent rapier like retort. Which was unlike her. He only heard silence.

“There’s one bed…”

He heard her speak like she had been wounded.

Hunter blinked.

“You have an acutely sensational gift of wisdom, there, Frost.”

He grinned. Enjoying her impeding distress.

“You mean to tell me you _knew_ there would only be _one_ bed?”

She asked, crossing back into the room. Voice and tone as icy as her name.

“I requested the one bed…” He smiled.

Her jaw ground together. _Hard_. He was amazed it didn’t snap off. She looked feral.

“Hope you like sleeping on the sofa then. Because there is no way in heaven and hell I am sleeping in the same room, bed, or matress as you.” She snarled.

“Mr and Mrs Steele are very devoted to one another. Separate suites are almost unthinkable. And how would separate bedrooms for such an enamoured couple look to Lessheart and Crane, they’d instantly smell a rat if we didn’t share a bed. The Steeles are - sort of - newlyweds after all… Clearly you didn’t read to file as extensively as I did…”

He chided, folding the paper in front of his face.

“You mean I didn’t comb it for clauses on making your colleague as miserable as possible, like you did.” She steeled.

He grinned, in a way that told her she was right.

“Perk of the job, irritating you… my sweet…”

He spoke, eyes on his paper. Before he looked up to her, and winked.

“Heaven help me, I would really like to _hurt_ you..”

She snarled lowly. He could feel the weight of her blue eyed stare burning at him like poisonous eroding acid.

“Yes. I _definitely_ preffered you when you were all sweet smiles and the picture of perfect loveliness, dear…”

He mumbled to himself under his breath.

When he folded his paper down to look at her again, he could see she was stood very close to him. Arms crossed, mouth set in a stony line.

“I do not like this mission arrangement any more than you do. Hunter. But know this, I will not be letting my boss, or my country down. I am doing my job. So you can snarl, and growl and spit all the bad words you like at me. But that doesn’t change the fact that ultimately, I have the upper hand and ability to walk away and not look back when the secret service closes in to kill you. Or have you forgotten that your very future now depends on me?”

She asked, a perfectly self satisfied smile on her lips.

“Dealing from the bottom of the deck there, are we, wife…”

Hunter snapped, jaw clenched, as he threw his paper away and came to an abrupt towering stand in front of her. He was trying his level best to intimidate her, she could tell. But it would not wash with a woman such as she. She met his gesture and looming stance back with the same ice cold level of intimidation she had been trained to have.

“Only because that’s how you seem to be playing it too, _Hubby_. You didn’t procure a one bed suite for fear of how it looks to Lessheart and Crane. Do you think I am _that_ thick? You did it to get under my skin like the scheming bastard that you are..” She hissed lowly.

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged..”

She shook her head scoffing.

“Even when your life, and job is at risk. You still have to be cocky and smug about it all. Don’t you. It’s like you can’t help being a self absorbed arrogant ass.”

“The job isn’t my life, unlike you.” He shot right back at her.

“ _Oh._ ”

She purred lowly, pretending to be hurt. Blue eyes narrowing, his eyes went straight to her crimson lips as she snarled sarcastically at him.

“Now whose dealing from the bottom of the deck..”

She asked him, as she twisted to turn and walk away from him. Presumably to go and unpack some of her things.

But he couldn’t let her. Arguing with her was addictive. She was worming her way under his skin. And he could not tell if he loved or loathed it. He adored a good old fashioned biccer, with a women such as she who could take it, but dish it right back to him with plentiful force. And right now, he couldn’t quite ignore the sparking sexual tension that was making him long for her lips on his own. Or, failing that, his mind was conjuring up filthy images of throwing her to their bed, ripping off that pristine dress, and indulge in a great bout of scratching fiesty animosity styled angry sex. Full of each of them grabbing at fistfuls of hot lusty skin, sharp deep thrusts into her that would leave her gasping, and harsh bites from teeth that intended to leave their lusty bruises and marks on one another.

His eyes stole down to look at her short manicured french nails, he could almost begin to _feel_ their harsh scrape as she scratched them down his bare back. She looked like she'd be a scratcher and a fighter in bed. And heaven knows he’s had _plenty_ of those. But she looked like the finest he had ever claimed yet. Because she was just as affected as he was. Not that she would ever show it, but her eyes were just as dilated and wide as his probably were. But never in a million years would she _ever_ admit that she was succumbing to the slight glimmer of animal want between them. She would die before she admitted she was attracted to him, he wagered.

His hand linked tight about her pale slender wrist. And tugged sharply with all the force he owned.

Meaning that she was harshly jerked back sidewys into his body. The brute lean force of his hard planed muscly body, as he panted in anger and lust for her. His stormy eyes raging with an ancient look of attract towards her that she was ignoring. But her own mind could help but point out that an angry flush was now decorating her neck, creeping down her skin as she snapped her head to look back at him with a snarling glare on her face, and right then, they didn’t know if they wanted to kill each other, or kiss each other. But they were both panting, and they were both so far from angry they were very nearly raging.

It was only then they noticed that they were both armed… Almost as if it were a reflex, his hand had tugged out his smith and wesson from his holster, and she had to hand the small little lethal beretta that had been strapped to her lovely pale thigh.

They were close too, so close in fact, that Hunter could count every single one of her rather enchanting and long black eyelashes that fanned out from her desirous blue eyes, and he could smell her delicious perfume that had woven its way into her hair, and clung to the pale skin of her neck. And she was pressed so tight to him, she could feel the hard heat of his stomach burn through his suit to her arm as it lay close to him. He was nothing but a slab of pure muscle at his core. And the scent of pure clean musky aftershave Is beckoning her senses, making her swallow as she realises she cannot stand this man, but she wants to lean in closer, and curl up into him.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all. The most utter height of perilousness. Was how severely they realised they craved each other. Because it should _not_ have been that way. They loathed one another. But it is only now that both agent’s realise how that loathing may have been masking something a lot more carnal, something hidden a lot deeper down inside…

After a few seconds of painfully bursting silence, and before his arm wrenches her close and kisses her, _so fucking hard_ , in damn traiterous accordance with his brain. He swallows, steadying his nerves. Sliding his gun back where it belonged. She moves to do the same, slipping her little gun back into her thigh holster, an action of which his eyes follow rather keenly, drinking in the slice of her peachy pale thigh that is offered up to him. Both their masks of stony indifference are back in place now. The heat in their gazes doused by the shared epiphany.

“I’m going to find the bar…”

He growls low in a rasping croak. His voice damaged from his desire.

“It’s a quarter to twelve in the morning…”

Frost offered with ice in her tone, and an obvious note of displeasure to her voice.

“If the alternative means staying here sober with _you,_ then count me out..”

He snaps moodily, curving round her and heading for the sliding door out into the safety of the hallway. _A single sour scotch should help get him out of this foul slump he found himself in,_ He thinks.

“Charming, _and_ a day drinker. What a _lucky_ wife I am…”

She scoffs as she heads over to the bedroom, he watched her sway her way over. Her fabulous ass clinging to the back of her white dress, the sight of such not helping to get him out of the funky mood of lust he found himself in for her.

It was damned buggering bollocking incovennient that. Wanting so badly a woman who he absolutely detested.

 _Screw the single. Make it a double scotch_. Neat. He thought.

He watched her for a long moment. As she crossed to their bedroom. Seeing how sexy the sway of her hips was when she moved.

 _Fuck it. Let’s skip straight to the vodka._ He thinks.

Slipping silently out of the door. And away from the damnably sexy yet enticing dilemna that was his colleague, slash wife.

 

 

He sighed in anger.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Attempts

                                                                             

 

  

 

It was late evening before their paths would be crossed again, he favoured. Hunter had whiled away his time by sitting at the bar, and imbibing a good few sour dissoranno’s, watching as the light sky bled into a violently coloured sunset, before fading to dark oblivion, all before his eyes as he sat watching the window and the world rush by beside him. Trying to place his mind upon anything but the madam of a colleague who he was avoiding back in their train suite.

He felt instantly more relaxed the second that the strong drink had crossed his lips, burning its intense way down his throat. He had managed to quickly work his way through so many – he had now lost count of the total - something of which he knew would greatly irk his ‘wife’ to no avail. But, alas, as it was always with him. Hunter, didn’t give a damn. He was so far past giving a damn it wasn’t even funny.

What did he have to loose? If he cocked this mission up, that would be it for him. It would literally be the last thing he ever does. His last legacy left on this earth after he was plucked out of it if Heath saw fit. He knew the man was severe, but he was just learning to what degree he took it too. The only shred of conduct of his he looked upon with delight, was that he was a damn fine agent. He was good at his job. But, it just appeared he was a man who could be easily distracted by member’s of the opposite sex. That was his only weakness. And he justified that weakness to himself by knowing that they had given him, in turn, a distraction from the low emptiness and the knowledge that he was so fucked up beyond all recognition, that one night stands were the closest thing to relationships that men like him could hope to have…

And maybe, just maybe, for a few hours, spent in, _blissful_ , company of said conquests, he could let slip from his mind the fact that he would most likely not live to see himself happily married and settled with a wife in his mere two and thirty years of life. He would be lucky to make it to his 35th birthday. That much he knew. Men like him lived a charmed yet cursed existence. From the day they pick up their first handgun and brandish the title of one of her majestys secret agents, their fate is sealed. They would never live to see forty, and could only reap the extensive rewards that a short but very merry life would offer them.

He thought upon this glumly, raising an invisible toast to whatever bastard up in the heavens whose job it was to assure that his life was kept plentiful and blessed, but which came at an ultimate price. He was also doing all this whilst trying not to be too obvious about checking out the two brunettes at the bar, which fate had designed to tempt him with. He knows that much. The one on the left had tanned smooth legs that went on for days, topped with dark velvet black heels to match her black sequined dress. And the one sat adjacent to her friend, on the right, wore a fetching purple little number, cascading away to give him a view of her bare back. Her hair pulled up so not as to obscure the cut of her sexy dress. Her heels too, black and daggering like that of her friend. Whom she sat chatting too, looking over her shoulder and catching his eye every so often, and smiling, flirting with him via her seductive eyes. She did it again, giggling earnestly as she turned back to her friend after having eyefucked vigorously with him for the third time.

He smiled behind his glass downing the contents of it. Usually, he would have been over there by now, charming up a storm til her knickers were looped round her ankles, but alas. One thing stops him. And he was surprised that one thing was the cold heavy band of his ‘wedding ring’, sat in it’s unfamiliar place on his left hand. That, and one other little niggling worry that was making him uneasy. And that was he didn’t want to go over there, because, alarmingly, he thought that _Frost was a far prettier woman than the one who was attempting to be sultry and seducing to him..._ And suddenly, that thought becomes so shocking, that he has to signal to the barman to order another drink to wash away that thought.

When it does arrive, he wastes no time in supping a great glug of it back. Wanting that previous thought of his wife to leave his head. Ironically, he thought, the only time he would most likely ever see himself married, was on an undercover mission, and to a woman he could not stomach the thought of. _Fate was surely being a sarcastic humoured prick to him right then._ He fancied. He thought over all of this watching the dark scenery outside the window pass him by, hurtling him away from London. That’s when he catches it, a whiff of sweet overbearingly strong woman’s perfume, so strong it can’t help but warrant his attention. He turns his head to see the alluring brunette stand close to him, smiling down at him as he reclined in his armchair. His eyes flicker nowhere but up to her face.

“Hi..”

She purrs alluringly.

He let’s a wry sideways smirk that all women would be felled by, cross his lips.

“Hello yourself…”

He rasps back, meeting her big brown eyes with his own gaze. _But they weren’t an enchanting shade of fetching blue like Frost’s,_ he thought, _devastatingly._

“My friend and I wondered if you’d like to join us for a drink?”

He looked over her shoulder to see her friend smile beautifully at him. He looked back then to miss purple dress stood in front of him. She had asked with pure flirt to her tone. Battering her long lashes at him, in attempts to allure him further.

“Sorry to dissapoint dear, but, I’m currently on my best behavior for tonight…”

He explained, withdrawing his left hand out from his pocket, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing over the band of expensive tiffany silver wedding band that lay there. Showing her he was taken. He watched her eyes sink in ever so slight regret.

“Shame. All the good one’s are always taken..”

She smiles in her gentle let down setback.

He nods. Looking down and fiddling with his glass as she slid away, back to her friend. He twirls his right foot in a slow circle. Rubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw. Sighing as he slumped down into the chair, recrossing his long legs. Wondering what the mission would bring him.

He was oblivious, now, to how every single person’s eyes were magnetised to follow the sight of a beautiful woman who slid her way gracefully through the bar carriage. Making her way towards the unawares man.

Even the two ravishing brunette beauties find themselves watching where this woman went, knowing each of their beautiful figures proved no match for this lady. No ones eyes could yearn to _not_ follow her. She was too tall and slender to ignore, plus she was wearing a dress that was deisgned to beckon and tempt. The hot red, and rather tight dress, clung to her enchanting figure. Enhancing the shape of her breasts that were bared modestly in the dress, and of which also stuck to the wonderful curve of her voluptious ass, that needed no further enhancement to be looked at, and admired. The heels on her feet were fire truck red, as were the soles, as she wound her way over to the seat where he sat. Her red hair shone bright like spun flames in the soft lighting that beat down on her. Plus, there was the added measure that the red dress stood out like a siren in amongst the dark suits of the room.

Hunter only became aware of her when she spoke. Not noticing that the room had fallen in to a respective hush to watch this attractive woman that was Selina Steele, his wife, sidle her confidant snd beautiful way up to his damn lucky side.

“Penny for them..”

She hushed softly. Having come to a stand still by her husbands side. Seeing his attention was taken by what rushed by him outside. As he lifted his glass to his lips, unaware of her.

He twisted his head round, and his eyes focused on her, before they widened ever so slightly, and he nealy spat his drink down the front of his grey suit. It subsequently thudded down his gullet as he gulped it back. Eyes not knowing where to rest first on the tempting stretch of his wife. She was dressed up for dinner, and he knew without a doubt that no man dining in the same place as they were would be able to resist looking at her. The dress was just on the right side of modest, yet it was also somehow managing to be the sexiest sight in the world. It was nothing but a simple, v necked, tight red dress that her body made look utterly _sensational._ On her bare arms she had looped a shawl the exact red shade of her dress about her shoulders. And he found it unfair, in fact, he was rather jealous of the ribbons that tied her red heels onto her feet, the silk red ties criss crossed up her calves, kissing the skin up her legs like he so wanted to do after seeing her dressed like this.

She raised her perfectly arched brows in a smile at him as he seemed to be struggling with his thoughts as if he were a braindead goldfish.

“You..look..”

He began, but he could not finish. This coming from the man who had charmed and slept his way through nearly every continent, and yet. Here he was speechless in the wake of one lethal little red dress. It was bloody uncanny, _that_. 

She leaned over him, smiling, resting her hand daintily on his shoulder, so that he could see the great big fat cluster of Tiffany wedding ring stones that sat sparkling on her ring finger. As she leaned in to press a red lipsticked kiss to his cheek. The brush of her soft lips against his cheek is nearly enough to render him into nothing but thrashing nerves firing down his spine. And his body reacts accordingly, getting hard and hot at the lovely soft scent of her that washed over him like a wall of fragrance. His whole body, _wanted_ her something wicked. His mind too, He couldn’t digest this vision of a woman.

He still manages not to find his words as she smiles at his loss for them. Folding herself down into the armchair opposite him, crossing her legs so his taunted by the red stretch of fabric that slides further up her thighs. He see’s she is still wearing the swarovski earrings that she had donned earlier. But the necklace had gone, and in its place sat nothing but her pale clavicle that he wants to kiss and nip at, and bite with his teeth. All to be rewarded with hearing her _mewl_ his name in desire. And gasp as he did it.

“I take it you like me in red then..”

She asks after she eases herself down.

“You know, I’d rather prefer you in _nothing at all_ …”

He purrs. Sipping his drink, eyeing her up some more.

“Scoundrel…”

She awards him with a smile. Just as the waiter comes over to take her order for a drink. Which she accepts, asking for a dirty martini, smiling sweetly at him before he slides away.

“So… “

She sighed breezily after a few seconds.

His eyes met her own, and held it, with a hot burning gaze that told her he really did like the dress she had donned for him. The only sounds they could both hear was of pleasant chatter circulating in the room about them.

“In all the three years I’ve known you. I never knew you had such a keen aptitude for cards… Or is it a well kept secret?” She asked him. 

“As if I could ever hide any little thing from you, darling..”

He grins. Leaning forwards to brace his hands on his knees to look deep into her eyes, and try hard to not vigorously eye fuck the living daylights out of her body.

“You’d have a hell of a time trying.”

She smiles back, still leant back in her chair as the waiter returns with her drink, passing it to her manicured hand as she thanks him grasciously. She sips it, eyes on him all the while. As he meets her blue icechip gaze measure for measure. Their eyes, when teemed together, miss nothing. They can read every twitch of the eyes, every nervous flutter, and all the little appearance retouches that the other takes. They are laid quite bare to one another, here, and now. Yet. They are both still hiding behind masks.

“We’re doing well with keeping up this pretence, don’t you think?”

He awards her in a low hush so there’s little chance of them being overheard, watching as she leans closer now to stand her drink down next to his on the tiny low table between their chairs. To everyone else unable to take their eyes off the stunning couple, it looks like they are whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears.

“We’ve only been under cover of said pretence for six hours. I wouldn’t declare it a raving accomplishment just yet..”

She answers back lowly. Smiling her lathal crimson smile, and blinking those huge baby blues across at him.

“I only mean, that it’s amazing, I’m actually - to my own incredulity - finding you to be astoundingly _attractive_ in that dress.”

He smirks, eyes flitting upwards from her shoes. Surveying her hungrily once again.

“.. So much so, in fact, it’s making me forget what a baron hearted robot you are in actuality.”

He sighed as he leant ever closer, daring to glide his hand to touch her bare kneecap, and smoothing further up, setting her skin into a fit of tingles at the sensation of his fingertips upon her. She watched as his fingers trailed further to a modest point on her upper thigh. She watched, swallowing as his fingertips trailed heat up the entire length of her leg, dispate the fact that he was only touching a small patch that lay just above her knee.

Her eyes snapped to his as his eyes seemed to heat up even more as he looked at her.

“Nothing in your mannerisms are making you _any_ more attractive to me…”

She smiled poisonously through her Dior reddened lips as she ignored the churning unsettling sensation that his hand was causing, that unfurled low in her gut.

“For argument’s sake, I see nothing different about Jasper Steele, when I compare him to the absolute prick whom I have the displeasure of working with..”

She mumbled lowly, still smiling as she picked up her drink to sip from it again.

“That’s because your missing the biggest difference, there, darling..”

He purrs, snarling the endearment in her ear, leaning over getting closer, the side of his cheek brushing against her own as he whispered his words into her ear, getting a good long inviting trace of her scent flowing into his direction. _Lords, she smelled alluring too. That didn’t help him along with easily hating her._

“You can hate on me as an Agent all you like. But, You have _no choice_ but to like, adore and love your own husband.. or any obvious disinterest could jeapoardize our mission…”

He hushed in a low velvety rasp into her ear, his eyes sliding down the pale stretch of her throat that he wished he could sink his teeth down into, if, of course, he wasn’t so sure she’d _kill him_ for doing it.

And heaven knows she wants to kill the infuriating git for being so _absolutely_ right.

“…and the best part about this? You have no grounds on which to fight me on this. No pulling a gun against this one, Frost. You have to let me _kiss you, hold you, touch you, love you, and be near you_. And so help me, I know it’s making you raging mad, but I am so going to enjoy making and watching you _squirm..”_

He rasps into her ear in a voice which hints at everything to do with gravelly rough sex, and nothing else.

“You really are a twisted bastard you know that..”

She purrs as he smiles into her throat. The air between them hot and heavy. The both of them very aware that it was usually lovers who spoke to each other in a manner such as this. So, in essence, that means that they are performing their mission brief to the best of their abilities. Despite the fact that they are both torturing each other, to everyone around them. It looks as if Jasper Steele was murmering something sexy to his wife about how gorgeous she looked in that dress, and all the ways in which he wanted to get her out of it when they were alone together again…

She feels one of his fingers brush agains the hand in her lap. Stroking over her wedding ring. Reminding her of its gravity.

“ ** _Your_** sadistic bastard, Mrs Steele..”

“ _Oh,_ what a lucky woman I am…”

“I’ve never had any complaints from previous women. Matter of fact, to the contrary, they are often so praising of my abilities, their cries rattle the roof tiles…”

He smiled, seeing her watch him as he pulled back, leaning close to her lips. Seducing her with his body and the heat in his eyes. For the second time that day, he found himself yearning to find out what those lips of hers were like to taste…

They looked soft, supple, and sweet, and It is torturing him every single second further that he knows he _won’t_ be able to taste them anyday soon...

A small voice behind them brings them out of the maze of lust and carnal anger they find themselves lost in.

“Mr and Mrs Steele?”

The timid broken french voice breaches their heat filled growl of a conversation.

Hunter turns to find a small waiter, dressed impeccably, and stood in regal formality behind them. A napkin folded over his arm.

“Yours and you wifes table is ready. Sir.” He informs them politely.

“Thankyou. We’ll be along now.”

He assures the kind man, looking back to Frost before standing and doing up his jacket. Watching as she too rises to her feet, stalking past him with that sweet smile that was reserved for their under cover counterparts, following after the wake of their waiter.

His eyes, she knew, were busy clinging to the back of her dress, more specifically, resting heavily on her ass and the backs of her longer than long legs. With those ‘come-fuck-me-now’ heels on her feet. If any one of his conquests back home wore shoes like that to dinner with him, he’d have them back at their place, under him, bollock naked, and purring his name within the hour. Because the sexiness of the heel and red dress combo was limitless, especially on her. Maybe the booze was making his senses deplorably loose, but he knows he cannot subdue how his body was responding to how glorious she looks tonight, as he eyes up that fabulous ass shifting side to side as she walked ahead of him, getting used to the rythmn of her stride as the train juddered it’s way along the tracks. What makes everything just a tiny bit worse, was that her shawl linked about her shoulders fluttered back into his path, tantalising him further with the all woman and mouth watering scent of her that is simply _irresistible_.

Maybe whats luring him to her, was the fact that she was dressing like a siren, but was about as approachable as a venemous reptile. She was dressed in a way that could easily rouse a males attention in a heartbeat, but she was about as obliging as her icy name and nature. She was a challenge. An obstacle. And he was a man who man his _living_ on appreciating a damn fine challenge.

And god help him, he vowed to himself, that before the week was out, he’d eventually seduce Frost into shedding her knickers for him too.

_Cross his heart and hope to die._

“Stop staring, Jasper. You’ll burn holes…”

She throws quickly, but flirtily over her shoulder as the waiter leads them both to a neat, white linen clothed and immaculately laid table in the nearly empty dining carriage. Soft jazz music underlined the chatter of late evening, and the dark moody atmosphere that mingled accordingly with the high class ambiance of dining.

Hunter smirked wryly as he crossed to a seat, pulling it back for Frost to slide her body into, watching her as she gave him nothing but a cold calculated blue blink and a small smile as she slid into her seat. Able to feel the addictive heat of his body behind her. She sits, and folds her linen napkin in her lap. Taking the offered menu as she watched her husband undo his jacket button and recline his long frame decandantly across the chair opposite her. She ignores the way his foot brushes - purposely -up her calf. Making her glare a pretty smile at him.

“Red or White, Monsieur Steele?”

The waiter politely enquires beside them both after they had settled.

Hunter let a rasping command of “White.”

Just as Frost let a polite “Red, Please.” Cross her own lips.

They glared at each other for a moment.

“A glass of your finest Italian Merlot for the Lady, And a glass of the best house Pinot Noir for me..” Hunter instructed.

The waitor bowed and fled.

“You know I hate white wine…”

She snarled. He didn’t know much about her, she’d grant. But he knew enough to know that. From all the numerous black tie operations they had undergone in hotel’s, bar’s, and various other places on missions together. He knew she hated white wine. She always drank red. He was just being his usual, irritating self.

“Must have slipped my not at all attractive brain, dear..”

He cooed nastily across the table. But as the dining carriage was partially empty save for a couple far down the other end, he would not uphold decorum when there was no-one to uphold it in front of.

She said nothing but went straight to examining her menu. Sighing as she read over it. He watches her then. Examining the rested complexion on her face as she read, eyes flitting lower and lower. She really was stunning to look at. He tilts his head. He remembers clearly the first time he saw her.

It was on one drizzly grey London afternoon, in one of the gym training rooms in MI6 HQ, a fellow friend and single class agent, Tucker, sauntered up to him mid workout as he did his usual 5K on the treadmill, asking him if he’d seen the new ‘bird’ yet. Hunter, dressed in a white vest and track pants slung low on his hips, had slowed from a sprint to a jog as he dripped with sweat, wiping it away from his brow as he huffed and puffed and confirmed with a charming smile that he had not. Tucker jerked his head, inclinging it across the busy gym. Hunter followed his friends move, seeing that It led to the tall frame of a very voluptious, yet slender woman, who was busy laying several punches into a punchbag, with bandages on her wrists. Dressed in a sweat soaked vest top, with her wild coiled red hair pinned off her face, a few straggles of it stuck to her wet brow as she snarled and high kicked the bag so hard, it jerked from its strung up hold on the ceiling. On her long slim legs she wore those unfairly tight lyrca gym wear that meant every seductive male agent worth his salt, had checked out the minute she stepped foot in the room.

And how Hunter had stared down this agonizingly pretty goddess who had fallen so obligingly into his path…

“You know the brief that Heath put 004 on to Singapore? To go and eliminate that notorious female russian assassin?”

Hunter made a low afirmative sound at the back fo his throat. Still watching the woman.

“Mn. What of her?”

“ _You’re looking_ at her, Hunter.” Tucker grinned.

008 tilted his head.

“He brought _her back_ to MI6?…”

He asked Tucker rhetorically, tearing his eyes away from the sight of the redhead to turn to his friend. He had to admit, that was a strange thing for 004 to do. The man was so obedient when it came to orders, it sometimes left Hunter questioning if the man had been a lap dog in a previous life…

“Just got the all clear from Heath. She’s awarded double-0 class status, Hunter. She’ll be on the band 8 team with you and 004.”

Tucker watched as Hunter grinned.

“Scram, Tucker..”

He instructed.

“You’re a minor, beware of oncoming explicit intentions..”

He winkes to the young agent as he walked onwards, linking a towel about his own shoulders and heading over, taking a great glug of water from his water bottle as he walked. Like the human embodiment of seduction that he was so famed as being.

“Careful 008. She’s fiesty, so 004 tell’s us…” Tucker called.

Hunter waved off the warning. He’d be the judge of that when she was under him, screaming his name to heaven and back, and leaving scratches so deep on his back, it scarred him for life. He'd had the odd Russian or two before. But she could blow the other two out of the water. 

He got to her just as she let one particularly brutal kick to the punch bag, that tore it – and the fitting it was hung on – tearing it away from the plastered ceiling. It crumpled to the floor with a heavy _THUNK_ and a puff of brick dust and plaster following it.

He looked to the bag, as he was stood the other side of it, between it, and her. Before his eyes found her own, to find they were enchantingly blue. Electric blue to be exact. He wondered if she looks up at a man in a pleading way with those big blue doll eyes in the bedroom.

“Well. I think you’ve won, darling.” Hunter drawled.

She panted as she assessed him. Taking him in with a flicker up and down of her eyes.

“…And you are?”

She asks in a typical impatient russian manner. He could detect a trace of the accent in her voice. But other than that, she was pure Britishness. Fiesty she was, Tucker had been right in that respect.

“008, Agent Hunter. But gorgeous redheads with blue eyes, and thighs like concrete, with asses that don’t quit, can call me Rex.”

He winked, grinning at her. She offered him naught but a glare in return.

“May I get your name? my sweet…”

“My name’s no buisness of yours…”

“I could make it my buisness, sweet thing…”

“I see you have an abundance of that charm that all men seem to think wins women over..”

She diagnosed with obvious disgust.

“Don’t be too quick to judge, sweets. Not all men are alike.”

He offered. Feeling he had to defend his own sex.

“I’m not expert in men. But I know the right kind to avoid when it throws itself into my path.” She admitted.

“ _Ohhh_ , sharp tongued lass. Aren’t we? Do you make a man work for the pleasure of getting your attention..”

“You are barking up the wrong tree if you think that my singular mission in life is to get men’s attention…” She growled lowly.

He smirked. _Arguing with this one was fun, imagine what sleeping with her would be like?_ He toys with the idea.

“Well. If you wanted to avoid man’s attentions, my dear, wearing incredibly tight gym wear that accentuates your ass, and getting all good, hot, and sweaty is not the way to do it..”

He smiled, leaning ever closer to her.

“You’re a pig..” She snapped.

“And you’re a prude..”

He offered, sparring back.

“Why?”

She scoffs.

“Because I didn’t bat my eyelashes, and swoon weak at the knees the second you started flirting with me… Like I should be impressed by a worthless sycophant like _you_ …”

They were right up in each other’s faces now. Snarling and spitting at one another. He came over here to flirt, but now he see’s she was exactly what he detested in women. Feircely opposed to men, and too self absorbed to take a compliment. Agent’s all around the gym stopped to watch the sparring spectacle between them both.

“Don’t flatter yourself honey. You’ve got about as warm a personality as a fucking iceberg. And better a worthless sycophant than a baron cold bitch with a poker lodged firmly up her rear end when it comes to the sore subject of sex. Still searching for the one to give it away too are we?”

He asks patronisingly.

He watches as her eyes turn to _literal ice…_

And before he can even comprehend it, or counter block her attack. She swipes his left leg out from under him with her right and used her arm to push his chest, meaning he landed flat on his back, winded, and staring up at the angry redhead.

‘006. Agent Frost. It was a pleasure kicking your ass in. Hunter. But approach me, and flirt with me one more time, and I’ll do more than just but you on your back…”

She stood over him, leering and looming as she spoke before she stepped over his groaning form, and sauntered away. Head held high, leaving the idiot in a crumpled pile on the floor.

And from that day onwards, they had been enemies. He, of course, flirted numerous more times. But they both knew she’d be fired if she killed him. So putting up with the leech turned out to be her only choice.

Frost looked up across the table to see he was looking intently at her again.

She frowned.

“I meant it about the staring you know. Did no one ever tell you it’s a little bit rude…” She offered.

“I was just remembering the first time I met you at HQ…” He told her.

The resulting wide grin on her face, made his smile drop.

“You mean when I humiliated you in front of nearly every agent in the double 0 programme by kicking you uncremoniously to the floor?”

She enquired.

“The very one, yes.”

He snarled to her.

She chuckled.

“A fond memory..”

She mused with happiness.

He rolled his eyes. _Bloody woman._

And indeed, he had been mocked around MI6 for weeks, because he had been beaten up by the new girl. Heath even took a stab at mocking him for it. But. He got her back eventually. A few weeks later, and Tucker told him that 004 had gone against protocol and ‘compromised’ her in Singapore. So he made sure to spread that shred of gossip all around HQ, to every agent he could. Making innapropriate jokes to Frost to wind her up about it whenever he could. Of course, he wished no damage to 004, one of his closest colleagues, but that could not be helped as an unfortunate side effect. It was almost unheard of for the impeccably straight laced man to disobey his strict orders. But then again, sometimes, the man let his heart get too involved in the  things that his head should have precedence over.

“What on earth made you think of that?”

She asks, accepting a sumptious glass of red wine from the waiter, taking back a large gulp to offset sobriety and attempt to make the character across from her, more palatable.

Hunter accepted his glass of white, nodding his thanks before he thought about his answer.

“.. I.. I just thought how little, then, I knew of you. But come to think of it. To this day, I still barely know a single intimate detail about you…” He admitted.

Frost blinked, looking down to her lap.

“Don’t feel too left out, 008. 004 barely knows any more of me than you. It’s not as if we’re close confidants…”

“Well. I doubt that…”

He purred. Reffering to 006 and 004’s ‘compromiing’ scenario in Singapore.

“That doesn’t mean he knows things about me..”

She offered in a stiff tone.

“It’s more than what I know.”

He pointed out lustily.

“He doesn’t know where I live, or what music I like. What I read, or like to drink, or how I…. grew up.” She rattled off a list.

“Then let’s start with the basics…” He ordered. Leaning close.

Frost blinked in confusion.

“I’m sorry?!…”

She asks, her face a pure picture of shock.

“Tell me. I want to know who you are. Vivienne Frost. Who are you…”

“I’m amazed you have the capacity to remember my first name..”

She digs. But then, he supposes. It just wouldn’t be her if she didn’t try and get a good sharp dig in to mock him at some point.

“Don’t be too flattered. I’ve also had a conquest called Vivienne. Easiest way to remember your name, I find…think back to her..She had, very..... _wild_ taste..” He grins indelicately.

She sighs, rolling those blue eyes. For a moment, she thought his rakish ways had been replaced by something sincere. But no. His armour was back up in place, and strong and resilient as ever.

Her eyes met his, the silent vibe she was looking at him with, asking him if he was capable of being sincere once again.

 “Let’s start with the growing up particulars…”

She swallowed, clearly at unease with the matter.

“Ironsgate. What was that like?” He asked.

She stuttered for a moment.

“Exacting.”

She admitted, and when her eyes met his, he can sense an underlying note of something fidget with nervousness in her eyes.

“Music…”

He asked, seeing that he had definitely hit a sore spot.

“Jazz, soul, R&B sometimes. If I care for it. But I have relatively little time to indulge in listening to music…You know what the home life hours of an agent are like..”

She admits. And it was tough, it could wear anyone thin. He waved goodbye to a steady sleeping pattern his first month on the job. Operations could start at 5am and not finish til 3am the following morning. It took up entire lifetimes of people. Because flawless dedication to the job demanded it that way.

“Seem’s like a good thing for a husband to know…” He smiles.

She nods, smiling lightly.

“Books?”

He enquired, leaning ever closer.

As her hand was stretched out on the table top in front of her, she watches as his fingers slide to cover hers, she fights not to flinch away from the loving touch. She wasn’t used to being caressed, or handled with love. She looks up to him with delicate tender blue eyes to see his fingers slide and stroke over the monumentally expensive tiffany ring that he, Jasper Steele, supposedly ‘placed there’ three years ago.

His eyes meet hers with the burning aura of ‘go with it’

And to her ultimate surprise, she does. She takes a deep exhale and leans back in her seat. Relaxing. Welcoming his touch, if but with a little cautious glimmer of her usual icy nature still lingering in her eyes.

“We’ll make a wife out of you, yet. Selina…”

He smirks across the table to her, grinning.

“Don’t bank on it, Jasper..”

She coo’s back, sipping her wine, returning his shit eating grin right back at him.

 

~

 

 

 

 

 


	12. The Kiss

 

 

The waiter had just finished clearing their plates away after the end of their meal. And Hunter sat back, slumped far down in his seat legs still crossed as he gazed his finest most woman melting smirk at Frost. Who met his smile with a stony glare back, rolling those big baby blue eyes of hers. Reaching for her red wine to take a sip. Placing it back down, re-crossing her legs as he still continued to leer at her.

“What _now?_ ”

She asks with an annoyed smile, reading that his eyes glimmered with an ancient spectrum of interest in her.

“We never truly got down to discussing any real details about one another…”

He pointed out, leaning forwards and crossing his arms on the table top, seeing she watched every move of his keenly as if she expected him to leap up and pull a weapon on her at any moment. All because she _didn’t trust him_. He’d have to work _hard_ to change that, he decided with inward amusement.

“You fobbed me off with some rubbish lies about yourself. And until I know the truth, I will not stop pestering and plaguing you for real actuality. I know you think that I’m not taking the mission seriously, seeing as if we muck it up, it’s my last hurrah, but I do take my job seriously. And I’m very good at it..” He explained.

“When you can be bothered..” She snapped, adding into his speech, cutting him off.

He frowned, smiling at her as he narrowed his eyes.

“That sounded eerily like a compliment coming from you…” He awarded with that annoying grin of his, to her eyes.

“You should know by now, That I have nothing praising to say about you, Hunter..”

“Oh, thou fair maiden doth have a sharp tongue…” He mocked nicely with that come hither smile.

He noticed a stray speck of loathing and worry cross her eyes then. But Frost never worried, she looked doubtful.

“You still don’t think this is a viable plan, do you?” Hunter asked her as he leaned in. His eyes picking up the errant notes of sarcasm underlining her tone. And the disinterest which some could mistake for boredom.

“Oh, there’s a plan now, is there?” She asks, proving his point. “And here I thought we were risking hundreds and millions of pounds, and several million lives all depedant on playing a game of luck and chance..”

“Poker is about reading people. Reading hands, and reading cards. I will be the best man for that, sat at that table…” He insisted stubbornly.

“That doesn’t mean you’ll win..”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Frost. Whether it is luck, or not, I will walk away from that casino table, having won the £150 million.”

“You’re very optimistic.” Frost granted him.

“..And your pessimism is starting to get on my nerves..” He growls to her.

“What else about me can you surmise, then, if you are so godly, and famed at being able to read people?”

She asks, urging him on. Both their tempers starting to rise again.

“About you?…”

He asks. Before he begins. His eyes sliding all up and down on her. Scanning her all over. It was a long few seconds before he spoke again.

He took a deep sigh, hoping she didn’t have any weapons about her to harm him with after he finished his examination of her.

“Your beauty, is something that you consider to be a major problem. Though it makes your job’s role a whole lot easier, you still worry that you won’t be taken seriously…”

“Which one can say of any self respecting woman with half a brain to her head..” Frost interjected his speech.

“True, But the woman in front of me, makes up for this by wearing dark and masculine clothing to work. And hating when she is forced into ballgowns and sexy little dresses for her job. And she also is _far more_ aggressive than any other of her female colleagues. Which give’s her…”

He paused, grinning.

“… a somewhat, _Frosty_ , and prickly demeanour. And ironically enough, this waylays her intentions of ever getting promoted, or accepted by her male colleagues or superiors. All of whom mistake her insecurities for arrogance. Now usually at this point I’d say only child, but the way you brushed off my earlier comment abut your childhood in one singular inexplicable word, I know I now have to go with Orphan…” He explained.

Frost just stared at him. He could read her like a book, but was not able to read how she was reacting to his words. She was stoic.

“Plus I’ve seen your file, I know that your parent’s were English born agents, whom both set high achievements at MI6 as double-0 agent’s. And as such, the exterior which you bulldoze ahead of you like a weapon at work, is because you are trying your level best to reach their standard of excellency. After all, I would, If my parents were the legendary Ethan Snow and Adrianna Knight. The two most reputable agents MI6 has ever seen. Whose own daughter fell into the wrong hands after they were killed, working in the employ of liars and killers, and she feels she must now redeem herself in their eyes, by getting up every morning, to be the best Agent she can be. She feels she needs to, _repent_ and atone for her sins of working for the adversary’s whom most probably, and _definitely_ , killed her parent’s..”

He finally finished. Seeing that she raised her head, and regarded all of him with a flick of those stony eyes.

“Alright then.” She glares.

“It’s my turn to have a _stab_ at you now, Hunter.”

She fought back. Face set like steely determination. Which didn’t bode well for him.

“By the cut of your suit, It doesn’t take an idiot to know you went to Oxford, or, some very excellent blue blooded all male institution. You actually think other human beings dress the way you do. But you wear it with such distaste for the style. Leading me to think that hatred is centred all in the way in which you were brought up. My guess is, Hunter, that you didn’t come from money, and you were forced day after day to flourish and excel in an environment that was perhaps far beyond your grasp, and your families pocket. And all of your well to do friends _never_ ever let you forget that. Which means you were at that school, clutching at straws to try and stay atop of all the people who were far better and richer than you. Which is why you have a chip on your shoulder about your wealth. And the way your carry and compose yourself, it’s all arrogance, but superiority and arrogance that is born out of living under the omnipotent shadow of your demanding father. How do I know father?..”

She asked rhetorically. Scoffing after she said it with a low and dangerous smile.

“Well. The way you interact with women. Or  _any_ woman, _or,_ as a matter of fact, any being with a uterus, two x chromosomes and a wet place to put it, does not suggest you had a healthy relationship with your mother. If you had one _at all_. So you charm, and flirt and seduce women in some roundabout Freudian way of trying, so desperately, to get their approval of you, in a way you never got as a child as you _never did_ know your mother, and was pushed to almost psychosis at the hands of your powerful, ill adjusted, wealthy father whom had to have the perfect son. So you lash out and disobey anyone who tells you why to do. Hence why you make such a outstanding double-0 class agent…” She spoke nastily.

“Thankyou..” He granted icily.

“It wasn’t a commendation.” She awards with a ruthless smile before carrying on.

“MI6 looks for maladjusted young men, who give little thought to sacrificing others in order to protect queen and country. I take it you’re familiar with the type. Former SAS or Marine trained with, easy melting smiles, and expensive watches…”

As she spoke the last sentence, her eyes slipped down to look at the expensive watch hidden under the cuff of his shirt. Her blue eyes then met his again.

“Omega?”

She asked.

“Rolex..”

He bit off with a smile.

“Beautiful.”

She teased with a ruthless smile.

“Now, I have known you for eight years. And while I _would_ go as far as to say that you are the worst sort of cold hearted bastard. I know you treat women as disposable, easily conquered, pleasures, rather than meaningful pursuits, so as charming as your smile is, Hunter. I will be there in Montenegro, beside you, doing whatever it takes to secure this money, and not let it fall into the wrong hands of murderers. I will not be there to swan and simper about, in expensive silk dresses as the little trophy on your arm, who takes no shit from anyone for risk of blowing her cover as a amiable wife. I will be keeping my eyes off your perfectly formed ass, and on the actuality of risking this mission, and those millions of lives, on one game of chance and luck…” She finally finished.

“You haven’t examined my ass..” He pointed out.

She titled her head, glaring gently at him.

“I have no desire too. But even A prickly demeanoured little Orphan has an imagination..”

She offered with a bite.

He smiled, widely. Snorting inwardly in amusement at that.

“How was your rabbit?”

She asked, referring to his meal.

“ _Speared_. Currently I’d sympathize if I didn’t too, feel the same way..”

He spoke slowly. Smiling gently. Definitely a little damaged from her dissection. She could tell. He was quieter and less cocky than before, so she must have got _some things_ right.

“Goodnight, Jasper. I don’t think there's room enough for me and your ego in this dining carriage.”

She awards, scraping back her chair, standing to leave.

“Pardon, Monsieur. This just arrived for you…”

The little moustached waiter appeared by their sides, holding out a brown paper envelope that was marked, top secret. Frost eyes met his, and he simpered an unapologetic smile across to her.

“I’ll join you, darling. After all you may need some help _getting out_ of that dress..”

He purred into her ear, slapping his napkin down on the table and coming to stand by her side, thanking the waiter as he looped his arm about his wife's waist, and pulled them both away, his hand straying down trying to cup and squeeze her ass. She glared at his words, as they made their way back through the bar, walking to the end and up to their first class suite. When they got out of the eye of other people, she shrugged him off.

“I wasn’t aware we needed more Intel from HQ..”

She spoke up when they were heading back down the darkened empty corridor of the hallway. The only light they got was from the one that flashed by as the train plunged past lights on the track. She was referring to the folder that he had sent for.

“It’s nothing to do with the mission.”

He awarded quickly, trying to angle the folder away from her, his face impassive and unbreachable.

He tried walking away, until she narrowed her eyes. The file looked familiar to her, only then, did she realise, that it had her name stamped atop it,.as he pathetically tried to hide it.

She snatched it out of his grip, and before he could protest, he just shut his eyes and sighed as she ripped it open, and examined the contents inside. After she did, she slapped them back to his chest. Her face pure poison as she glared foul hatred at him.

“Never mind being the worst sort of bastard. You are the _lowest_ of them all.”

She snarled, attempting to move past him, angrily shoving him out of the way.

The file was on _her_. It was all the intelligance gathered about her, including the original brief for Singapore for 004. Transcripts, interviews, and interrogations all linked to her time prior working for MI6. He had snuck behind her back like the little backstabber that he was, and sponged for information of her, off his many friends in the admin department.

She tried to make quick distance away from him, before she finds herself slammed to the wall, held there by his body. Arms bracketing her so as she couldn’t move anywhere that he didn’t want her too. He tucked the file into his jacket. As he adjusted his body against her own, his hips and chest touching to hers. She gasped as his hot breath rolled down her ear, and she couldn’t even fight him back. He had the upper hand advantage.

“I needed to know I could trust you.”

He spat into her ear.

“You’ve worked with me for eight years in MI6. Does that mean anything at all?”

She snarls back.

“You could be a double agent..”

He growled in his defence.

“Oh, you’ve really made me angry now..”

She barked out, spitting hatred at him. Face so angered. And icy _. And lovely_ …

“Good..”

He panted angrily. Eyes hot and stormy as he rumbled at her. More than a little turned on now.

She felt as his hand slid teasingly up her thigh, she tried to wriggle away, as his smooth warm hand climbed higher. Making her gasp and squirm in protest, his hands slammed her back to the wall harder, continuing his quest, before he found what he was looking for. His fingers hooked over the top of what he had spent all night trying to ascertain was hidden there. His fingers came away, tugging the red lace garter down off her, revealing the small little flick knife she had kept strapped there.

 _Mmnn. Red lace._ He thinks. _He never knew she harboured a kinky side._

“And you accuse me of scepticism in trusting you..”

He spat nastily into her ear.

“Forgive me for being armed.. We are Agents..”

She pointed out sharply. He watched as her manicured hand tugged a fistful of his shirt closer, meaning that their bodies now touched in every conceivable place against their fronts, his stomach brushing against her own. His chest crushed her mouth watering breasts to his front, and their hips clipping one another's. 

“Thankyou kindly for the recap.”

He roared gently in sarcastic anger.

Her hand slid under his jacket, easing her quick way around to his hot back. Feeling the heat of his skin under the shirt and waistcoat. Smiling her red smile against his lips as she purred out a sentence as her fingers too, found something.

“And you accuse me of double bluffing you. You forget, 008. _I know where you keep your gun..”_

She whispered into his ear, smirking, pulling the usual Smith and Wesson out of it’s hiding place, and nudging it into his side, feeling that his torso went all stiff and tense because of it. He smiled as he pressed the edge of the switch blade into her side, blade out, brushing temptingly up her thigh, skimming up the silk of her leg, and then resting gently into her stomach.

“Mutually assured destruction, Frost. You kill me, I _will_ kill you.” He offered bluntly

“Are we going to learn not to be around each other when armed?” She purrs lowly.

“I bloody hope not.”

He snarls, before he does something that he had been yearning to do since the first time he laid eyes on her.

_He kissed her._

He inched his head a mere matter of inches closer to her, and gently sloped his mouth onto her own. Coaxing open her stubborn red lips with his own mouth. His devious hands sliding around her lower back, pulling her closer. But there wasn’t much more room to get at. She was already moulded close into him, all of her curves were crushed lengthways under him. She found she was the worst sort of woman too, because she used to pride herself on being level headed, and un-swayed from his advances. But she _melted_ when his lips touched hers. Because they were full, and pliant. And when they opened and explored her own, it’s all she can do to stand. She forgot that he was an absolute prick of the worst order, and that he viewed women as nothing more than throwaway indulgences. And he himself was shocked at how pleasant she was to kiss. He viewed her at her job as a creature of ice, and whom was manufactured somewhere in a factory, not a being whom was carbon based. _But then she sighed against his lips_ , and he knew she was soft, and sexy and alluring and every other good thing that he could never remember his numerous other girls back home being. She was different than all the empty airheaded things that he usually liked to bed. She had backbone, and fire about her, She detested him, and heaven only knows how badly that fired his blood in want for her. He wanted what he knows he shouldn’t have. He was slowly loosing himself to her, just as it got good, as it got to the point where a kiss such as that would undoubtedly shift into something more, something that led to tearing off clothes and having a good passionate tumble back in that   bed. Her hands relaxed then to her side, and she felt the gun slowly slip from her grasp, and clatter to their feet. She knew right then, that she was lost to him too. His spare hand tangled into her curled red hair, skimming thrashes down the back of her warm silky neck. 

After a good long, slow moment, As his head was screaming for him not too, he slides away from her, his lips bruised and needing more of her before he pulls back. Seeing she leaned in as he retreated, not able to believe that she had wanted him in a crazy powerful moment of lust, where she and indeed, he, had forgotten which way was up, and which way was down. But now, both their heated blue eyes are examining one another in a way that was something a lot more than them just being colleagues who hated the living daylights out of one another.

Neither of them could speak. For once. This had left them both speechless. He sighed, moving himself away from her, after scooping up his gun and returning it to where it belonged.

“Drink?”

He asks her in a raspy gruff.

“I bet you say that to all the women you kiss..” She steeled.

His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“Well. After I kiss any woman, _like that_. Usually, It leads to bedroom related activities..”

“I’m not a usual woman.” She ground out.

“I’m learning that on my own, Frost..”

He awarded, heading back to go to the bar. Leaving her there, alone. In darkness and silence. He knew her well enough to know she would roll that statement about in her head for the rest of the evening.

“And yes. _That, Was_ a compliment..”

He offered over his shoulder, as he stalked away.

 

 

 


	13. Courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry - life got in the way, as it so tends to do, here you go you lovely loyal people x much love

 

 

 

He couldn’t go in.

The door was two paces behind him, the other side of which was their bedroom. Selina and Jasper Steele’s bedroom. And the thought of taking off his crisp suit and sliding into bed after a long day of partial intoxication and doing battle with his colleague is pure bliss to his tired mind.

But still he couldn’t summon the energy nor courage to go in.

The train crawled heavily along the tracks, like a huge metal caterpillar, shuddering and heaving itself with heavy clacks over each of the metal sleepers below his feet. He could feel the carriage tremor and tremble under his feet as he stood. He had opened the window behind him, and had turned to feel the soothing rush of the cold night air whip at his face, tearing at his hair as he closed his eyes. Needing to feel everything else around him pulsing with life, whilst he remained perfectly lifeless, if only for a second. He expelled a long breath, opening his eyes to once see blue black of the night time landscape dashing past him.

He had taken his time indulging in several strong spirits at the bar, loosing himself in the bottom of his whiskey glass, feeling more and more comforted by the loosening of the control over his body, surrendering himself to inebriation. The wonderful unclear feeling clouding his head, and its glorious misty and indistinct lack of feeling fluttering and burning low in his limbs. He wanted to loose himself, because he knew if he summoned his completely sober mind, then he’d tear himself into that room, and seduce that ice cold, hearted woman into bed. And he would rather swallow poison, or take several bullets to the chest than declare he was starting to become _attracted_ to Frost.

He swore at himself.

“Fuck it.” He speaks lowly, and only to himself.

Cursing his bleary mind for running right back to the thought he was trying so hard to escape from. He reached into his jacket pocket and tugged out the engraved cigarette case, etched convincingly with initials that weren't even his own. With calm fingers, he fumbled for a cigarette, and brought it to his lips, and after lighting it, he took a long, sweet drag, and let the smoggy toxicity of it fill his lungs, and fill them deep. He exhaled almost with a groan of pure satisfaction. Letting his eyes slide shut as the indulgent tang of the fag tainted his mouth. But as soon as his eyes fell closed, all he could see was _her._

_Arched between his arms as he pushed her up the very wood panelled wall opposite him not an hour ago. Feeling every elegant line of her soft body beneath his frame, the graceful womanly curves of her waist, the soft swell of her thighs, how her chest heaved in that enticing plunging red dress. but, worst of all, was her eyes. Those slightly slavic, slanted feline eyes, the colour of a shaded ocean under the fan of dark lashes, able to still recall how her warm sweet breath felt against his mouth._

He winced. Annoyingly throwing the half lit cigarette out of the train window, letting it get snatched away into the night. Not even drinking, or smoking could distract him from her. She was starting to invade his every thought, devouring every cell of his body so there stood little chance of dodging her.

He swallowed. Now he knew he was just being drunk, and ridiculous. Rex Hunter, ran from no woman. He was a dame tamer, not a coward. He could charm anything of female persuasion and two X chromosomes into bed in less than ten words. He would not be scared of the emotionless being that he had been paired with. He was going into that room, and he was acting as her husband come hell or high water. One, because he didn’t have a choice in said matter, and two, he would give her _no room_ to fault him on this mission.

He turned, approached the door, stole himself a fortifying breath, and opened the door. Sliding quickly in, he pressed it shut with his back. Flattening himself against the door. It was just as dark in here as the corridor had been. The only light came a golden rectangle of the bathroom light framing the door. Also allowing him enough privacy for the moment to shed his jacket and throw it to slump onto the chaise diagonal from him, uncaring if he creased the fabric. Tilting his head to the right, he looked through to the bedroom, seeing the light in there came from a small side lamp, reflecting off the dressing table mirror. He glanced again at the bed, the laughable excuse for a double bed, and remarked how interesting it would be to share such a close space all night with a woman who hated him right down to his very bones. Which, he thinks, would be _a first_ for him. He’d never shared so much as a lift with a woman who despised him.

“First time for everything..."

He supposes glumly to himself. Unbuttoning his waistcoat and throwing that to also join where his jacket lay. He then took out his cufflinks and tucked them in is jacket pocket so he could find them in the morning, running a hand through his dark hair. Not able to see, where his back was turned, that the bathroom door had now been pulled open by the occupant inside.

“So, the drunkard husband returns…” came a soft yet edgy voice from behind him.

“Couldn’t resist being parted from you..” He speaks in a growl, not looking at her. He then swivelled his eyes round to meet the sight of his ‘wife’, and, well, _what a sight_ she was.

There was no doubting that she was ready for bed, that he couldn’t deny. Clad in a ridiculously flimsy white, short silk nightdress. Almost coloured a soft gold from the ambiance of the radiant bathroom lighting, compared to the harsh blue night that drowned the room around him. Her fire coloured hair fell in soft waves down to her collarbone, but he then noticed, in this light it wasn’t just a flat red. It was a million shades. It was amber, gold, fire, blood and crimson. Her face was delightfully naked, free of all the makeup she had worn for dinner. But she looked just as good out of makeup, as she did in it. Her lashes, he noticed, were almost the same without cosmetics, they were the darkest black, but ever so slightly auburn at the tips, making her look softer, and younger than she did usually. It gave her an air of innocence. Her face, when free of being dolled up, didn’t give much away, under her eyes weren’t dark or shadowed, and he quite warmed to the way he could see a faint smattering of barely visible freckles across the bridge of her nose. For once, he had seen her without one of her strongest suits of armour, she had nowhere to hide behind. No daggering lipstick, usually the shade of blood on her lips, no reinforcements of dark lashes to flutter at men when she was tasked undercover. She was letting her guard down. And damn him all to hell, he really didn’t mind the sight of her.

His eyes couldn’t help but watch, where she braced one slender arm on the bathroom door, he let his eyes slide up the pale skin of her bicep, tinted a shimmering gold in the light. Same went for her thighs too, where the short dress bared them to his sight, the light stroked along her skin freely, without question or hindrance.

Not allowing his lecherous eyes to bask in the offerings of her flimsy nightwear any longer, snapped the lightswitch off in the bathroom with a slam of her hand, and walked with quick direction past him. He bit his lip after she walked past him, her perfume, the smell of her hair and her skin punching him in the face as she moved by him. He watched her cross to the bed, but his eyes quickly caught sight of something on her bare back, and it was nothing to do with lust that made him examine her in such a way. It was morbid curiosity. In the blue wash of the night that swarmed the bedroom, where the moonlight snooped in through the unshuttered window, he could see where her dress dipped down very low across her back, held in place with thin silk straps, that looked almost silver in the light, that her fair skin was criss-crossed with savage looking scars gashed every which way across her back, raised lines of once scarred skin, having healed in uneven ferocity, which now lay stark and brutal on such supple skin as hers. Coloured a horrific crimson in the moonlight.

“You’re not exactly discreet with your staring, are you Hunter?”

She presses in an edgy voice as she was busying herself folding up the clothes she had been wearing earlier which lay on the bed.

“Where’d you get them then?”

He asks in interest, his eyes couldn’t help but examine them again. Whatever they were, they weren’t neat. Scars told stories. And whatever hell fury had put them there, had been ferocious and unrelenting, that much he could tell.

“None of your business.” She snaps hard-heartedly.

“Oh, then, Do excuse me for briefly giving _a damn_ about you…” He snaps back. Beginning to undo his crisp white shirt.

“Oh, how _you woo_ me…” She pitches back, just as angrily. Feigning a swooning tone to her voice.

He forgot how she could so skilfully cause his blood pressure to rise in five words or less. He sighs in irritancy, ripping his tie off the back of his neck, making an angry shrieking sound as it whipped off his shirt collar. He stalked closer to the bed, intending to get into it and sleep this horrific day away into memory, and maybe escape _her_ for a few blessed hours of silence and rest. But as he moved forwards, she, unbeknownst to where he was headed, almost collided with him. They now stood so close, it brought back to mind the glories of the kiss they shared earlier, but not that either of them wanted to admit to it being so. She sighed, moving her head to throw back a curl of hair off her face, her eyes meeting his own. Glaring at him as he smirked, his fingers moving to his chest, and before long she watched as he was able to fold his arms back behind him, and shrug off his shirt, baring the toned expanse of his bare torso. As he did this, he had to contort his body to lean forwards, and almost press into hers. And she damned her reflexes, because as he drew forwards, she shrunk back from him.

He chest was heaving again, and he was able to observe from close range how her chest still heaved, even when it was unsupported by undergarments, because he could just tell she wasn’t wearing _terribly much_ under that thin silk. She met his grin, with a glare, and just as he had remembered her eyes to be, feline shaped, abutted by a long fan of lashes, and, in this dull light the colour of a dark Siberian iris. A velvet blue so deep, they almost looked black. But he knew if her eyes were irises, well, then her lips were roses. The most cherry pink he had ever seen, and he knew from past experience – going back a staggering total of two hours ago – that they were softer than anything he could remember. And how had he never noticed before that she had such an utterly gorgeous neck, slim, elegant and so inviting to gaze upon.

She was stood in a very dangerous place, being in such near proximity to the man who repulsed every fibre of her being. Yet, they seemed not able to avoid being near one another, squashed inside this tiny train cabin, hurtling many miles away to try and keep up a pretence under the eyes of powerful, ruthless men who could spot an agent of MI6 at ten paces. It was laughable that the head of operations had paired them together, to have to try and pull off the most unconvincing act in the world. For her to look madly enamoured with the man she hated from head to toe. They couldn’t even have a civil conversation without reaching for a weapon or jumping down each others throats the second they opened either of their mouths to speak. He was right in what he had said earlier over dinner, she didn’t think that this was a very good idea, risking a stupid pairing of agents in front of some of the deadliest criminals in the world, all boiling down to who could lie the best sat when at a poker table. It was almost inhumanly stupid. And most possibly, the hardest, most scrutinized mission she had ever partaken in. That didn’t do so much as ease her nerves by one jot.

She swallowed, trying to put to rest the uneasiness she felt for this task of theirs. Having to also put aside how she could feel the scorching heat of Hunters skin, as his exposed chest was not an inch away from her own. Solidly built, housed under the veneer of his tanned, weathered skin. Built bulkily by the mass amount of athleticism the job demanded from him. His torso, bulged with well, but not over defined, muscle to his arms and chest. Of which, the latter was smattered with dark springy smatterings of black coarse hair, just enough to give him a manly glow about him. Not so much that it looked repulsive to the eye. She hated to admit it, but though his personality was as _rotten_ as his annoying smirk, he wasn’t _completely as revolting_ to look at. His muscled shoulders met the juncture of a good neck, leading up to the angular planes of the bones of his face, that looked down at her now, with amusement and arrogance dancing away in his sea foam green eyes. And that was something she could never pin down, some days, his eyes would be as cobalt as sapphires, and then others, they would shift to being more emerald than the richest shade of muddied moss. Today, she notices, they are the shade of cerulean _silk_. His hair, now a jet black, was pushed back on his head. And she’d do anything to rid him of the _irritating smile_ on his plainly handsome features.

“Intimidated, darling?”

He asks, daring to step that tiny bit closer. Looking down at her, he could almost feel their bodies touch. And he could once again sense the inviting scent of her. He had laughter in his eyes, and his smile set her teeth on edge.

“Not by _you_.” She answers, cold as stone, words hard and as immovable as an iceberg.

“To bed then?” He asks looking amused.

She tries to quell the nervous sickness that swarms her belly at those words. Though this was her job, it felt like it was starting to creep in on ebbing into her personal life. She’d always had the luxury before, of leaving her work at the doorstep when she got home and went to bed at night. But tonight, she knows, she had no room to be awarded such liberties.

“So it would seem.” She answers thinly.

She took a step back and with him still watching her like a hawk, turned and lifted up the corner of the bed, but not before leaning over and lifting the throw pillows off the bed. She heard him move behind her, turning off the lamp plunging the room into the blue tint of darkness, and then felt him come to a stop not centimetres behind her, where the room by the side of the bed was not spacious, she could feel his chest directly behind her back. Radiating heat and the musk of bright notes of his cologne drifting across to her, mingled with the all definable scent of sweat, and male. Then she felt him speak, trust him to slink up behind her when her back was turned. His breath disturbed her hair as the heat of his words slithered over her shoulder, kissing hotly onto her neck as she spoke.

“Left side? Or right, dear?”

He asks in a husky tone, and she hated herself for the way her knees shivered a little at the proximity of having him expel his hot breath onto her weakest spot of all, her neck. Feeling her hair shift as he leaned his head close, she had to try very hard not ot let her eyes flutter back in her head in pleasure of his breath tantalising her neck, she could then feel his thighs brushing into the back of her. The silence and heat of the moment made her chest flush pinpricked with blood and heat, until she remembered who she was, where she was, and whom she was with. Hunter was like a shark, one whiff of blood or weakness and that was game over for his prey.

“Never slept in the same bed twice enough to have a preference..”

She awards. Trying her best not to let her breath go shallow and shaky at the proximity of how horrifyingly, _near_ , he was. She tugged the well made covers back, and climbed into bed, ignoring how his eyes probably clung straight to her ass as she did, she eased herself down, arranged her pillow, and turned with her back facing him as she felt him slide into the bed too, stumbling in as the train went over a particular bump in the track, he landed inelegantly on the bed, pressed rather close to her. Feeling the raised texture of her scarred back touch his arm.

“Well. Can’t fault it for being snug.”

He exclaims as he lay pressed close to her back, staring up at the ceiling, with his arms folded behind his head, topless, still clad in his fine dress trousers, feet bare as he had pulled off his socks and shoes when he discarded his jacket earlier. She can’t deny, though the bed boasted of being larger than most, for her, a slim woman, sharing it with a big bulky guy like him, there wasn’t much room to spare.

Frost doesn’t answer his words, she simply lets her eyes examine some empty spot on the plain wall she was facing on her side of the bed. She knew he had secured them a one bed train suite to ultimately irritate her, and it did, but, he may also have done it for the good of the mission. So she could try her best to forgive him on that count. She just kept repeating to herself, that tomorrow was another day.

“I’m still curious about those scars of yours you know…”

He speaks up after a few minutes of silence. And as he then hears her sigh, angrily and her back tense, he knows she heard him and couldn’t feign being asleep. The reason he hadn’t seen them before as he had seen her back, many times, in many fine dresses, but he hadn’t seen those because they laid very low down on her back, barely visible above her shoulderblades, most of the scarred skin lay below them. Low across her spine.

“They happened in the life I had before MI6, a life in which you did not know me in, ok Hunter? Now drop it.” She tells him firmly. Sitting up and turning round to dagger him a glare as she did, spinning her body in the bed to face him.

“You mean the life whereby you willingly let Williams shag you in Singapore…” He asks in a carefree, blasé way that made her blood rise. Turning to meet her pointed eyes.

She clenched her jaw as she glared across at him.

“What is it with you and that mission irking you so much? What you think because Williams has seen _me naked_ , and you haven’t, that he’s got some ultimate _knowledge over_ you?” She asks in an angered snap.

He sat up to lean very close to her.

“Yes, I think he does. Because he knows _damn sure_ more about you than I do. You’ve remained close, buddy-buddy colleagues ever since. I imagine you’ve let him see you naked more than _just once_ …” He predicts. “Here I am trying to get personal information out of you, and it’s like trying to extract blood from a _fucking stone_. And yet you willingly gave yourself up to him, I can’t help but wonder what that _says_ about the two of you… and how, _close,_ you are.”

“It means that I trust Williams, and I still think you’re a despicable piece of work, and that’s unlikely to _ever change_ …” She growls lowly. Sick of him insinuating that she and Williams were more than strictly work associates.

“Come a little _closer_ when you say that…” He snaps back. “You look _so sexy_ when you’re _angry…_ ” He mocks. The sea foam green of his eye turning into stormy depths now. They were curled close, spitting at one another like cobra’s.

“I never want to be considered _alluring_ by your standards…” She hisses.

“Tough luck _honey,_ cause the ring on my finger says otherwise…” He reminds her.

“And I will uphold that decorum tomorrow, in front of Williams, Lessheart and Crane. But for tonight, Hunter, _for all I care_ , you can go to _hell…_ ” She fairly yells. Leaning closer to berate him so hotly. Her chest nearly pressing to his once more.

He clenches his jaw, hard, amazingly, he noticed that his teeth didn’t turn to dust.

_That was it._

He grabs whatever part of her his hands could reach, which proved to be her upper arms, and he pins her under him, his lower body pressed down hard into her own, and his hands brace either side of her head on the pillow. And he _really, really_ wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to haul her into his arms and show her who was boss, even though she’d probably try and scratch his eyes out. But right now, that was a risk he was willing to take.

“On second thoughts…” He speaks against her lips. His breath ghosting enticingly across her mouth.

“I think I’ll take the sofa. Less vile tongued _wives_ to contend with out there…”

He snarls. Hauling himself up and off her, snatching his pillow and stalking away. The last she saw of him was the wide expanse of his pale back as he disappeared into the other room. He threw his pillow down onto the piddly sized chaise, of which was no more than five feet, and he was atleast six foot three. He was in for an uncomfortable night, he could tell already, but one even more so if he dared to brave the bed with that emotionless cyborg that was Frost inhabiting it. He curled up, hearing nothing but silence from the next room, and hating how his heart rate was pounding through his chest and gonging In his ears.

And, unbeknownst to him, Frost was laid in bed, staring at the ceiling in the other room, thinking the _exact same thing._

 ~

 


	14. Pretence

 

 

Hunter was awoken the following morning by a polite rap on the train suites door. Groaning and stumbling over his own two feet, he staggered, bleary eyed and half dressed, across to where the infuriating sound was coming from, and opened the door, to see a mousy looking porter in a pressed scarlet uniform the other side, who informed him in heavily accented english that they would be arriving in less than an hour.

Hunter grumbled his thanks, and his mood turned sourer by the fact the porter had raised an eyebrow, obviously catching a glimpse of his makeshift bed for the night, and conceiving that he had been barred from the _actual_ bedroom. That look of pity only made His mood the worse off, and with a terse dismissial, the porter shuffled away to another cabin to depart his news to other customers.

Hunter shut the door with an annoyed flick of his hand. Blinking his smudgy eyes to life, he shuffled back to the miniature settee that he – a very tall man – so laughingly called his bed, and flopped ungraciously onto it. Shutting his eyes and trying to absolve himself of the roaring hangover rotting his brain, and the thundrous aches that flared through his joints due to a bad night’s rest.

He didn’t realise his counterpart was up until he heard her speak from the direction of the bathroom.

“How did you sleep then?”

She asked in a small, uncomfortable voice.

“ _Badly_.”

Was Hunter’s gruff reply. Because he had slept _very poorly_. His legs were too tall for the sofa so he had to hunch them up all night in order to merely fit. This left him with straining thighs, and a particularly foul back ache. Not to mention his stomach rolled every time the damn train stumbled over a particularly heavy sleeper on the tracks. But it wasn’t only the state of his body that ached. His mind did also, and not all could be solely contributed to _the hangover._

 _That kiss_.

 _The smell of her hair, the silk of her hot skin,_ it all rippled and echoed through his head, taunting him as he slept. How he had decided to feebly taunt her by booking a one bed suite, and she had fought _right_ back in her retribution, draping her delectable body in a slip of a nightgown that left him so very  _easily_ distracted.

He winced, as he eased himself to sit up running his hand to cradle the back of his neck, which, this morning felt like a loose stack of pebbles rather than a spinal chord. He harboured a distinct throbbing feeling through his body that was similar to going ten rounds with a champion fighter, not, he thinks, spending a few hours contorting himself to fit onto a borrowers sized sofa.

When he managed to prize his eyes open, and make them focus in Frost’s direction, much alike last night, he rather liked what he saw. Where her hair had been down and curled finely to perfection yesterday, bringing to mind a vision of the pure hollywood glamour of 40’s starlets, today she had swept every gold, red, crimson, amber and auburn lock up and back off her face, pinned finely to accentuate those flawless and ruthless cheekbones of hers, and brough more attention to the trademark slavic tilt of her big, feline shaped eyes and the fine, strong blade of her nose. Today, the shaded ocean shade had shifted into the colour of a cloudless sky. On her athletic and always pleasing to behold figure, was a simple white shift dress that clung tight to her hips, and her bust. Reminiscent of a fifties wriggle dress.

Her armour too, was back on this morning. A soft red lipstick and the barest tint of cosmetics made her presentable. He couldn’t but help wonder what had happened to her in another life to make her so guarded. Those scars on her back, no mere accident would have put them there. They were the marks of torture. Brutal, unrelenting, vicious, callous hearted, _torture_. He knew enough to know it, when it left its capricous mark. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t want to mention it, but then, to him, she doesn’t seem like the type of woman who was cowardly enough to try and _outrun_ her pain, nor quell, or ignore it. He knew her, _strictly_ , as an agent. And she was, ruthless at it. _Brilliant,_ but ruthless. She could take down armed SAS teams single handedly, even if they were geared up to the eyeballs with ammo and all the whistles and bells. He’d seen her in action, and she was a fury to be in awe of. But surely, there was something behind the pain that she wasn’t telling him. Perhaps, in time, he’d earn being told, but for now, she was as guarded as ever, and there would be no getting over it, not night, nor day. All he could do, was try to wear her down. With his charming smile, or possibly a cocktail or two, he’d get her softened up enought to talk by the end this mission was through. That was who he was after all.

_Hunter by name, Hunter by nature._

Before he could speak, trying to rebuild the bridges his drunken, lustful mind had burned last night, there came another polite rap on the door, enough to tell him that this was the signiture knock of the train staff porters once more. He watched his slender wife breeze to the door, crossing the carpet barefoot, barely making a whisper as she moved. His eyes were somehow, inexpicably drawn, to her legs as she moved. She had _killer_ legs, _ironically enough,_ pale, toned, and ever so supple thighs. But it was her calves, this morning, that caught his eyes, he watched the sunlight _kiss_ across the muscles and her pale skin as she walked, he didn’t know why his midsection tingled with affectionate longing from looking at a shapely ankle of hers. He rolled his eyes quickly to look somewhere else.

The door opened and a smiling porter held a low conversation with his smiling, genteel wife, before she pulled the door inwards and he swept in like a whirlwind, artfully placing a silver domed tray down on the table in front of him, sweeping off the lid, allowing him a glimpse and a scent of the food below, before he could counter it there came a silver pot swirling steam placed alongside two cups, and with an elegant arc, the porter flounced out of the cabin, as if he had never even been in. Hunter blinked, shocked at the sight of – one – of his favoruite breakfasts, prostrate before him. two delicate morsels of poached eggs with spinach perched on top, scattered with pancetta and oil. Alongside this, poised elegantly on a white dish, was his personal favourite of all the italian pastries – _cornetto integrale._ A flaky, golden, wholegrain pastry brimming with honey and dusted with icing sugar. And just to completely sure that it was intended for him, he could smell the powerful, enlivening aroma of strong, bitter and resplendent Italian coffee seeping out of the teapot to beckon him.

His eyes flickered up to find Frost raising a perfectly arched brow at him. Informing him to

“Tuck in, Hunter.”

She tells him calmly. He couldn’t help but look surprised. He had received nothing but scathing, revulsion, anger and bitterness come from her. So to see her show the slightest sliver of _kindness_ was as if she had just sprouted another _limb_.

“Are you being, _nice,_ to me, Frost?”

He asks with a hint of a misbelieving smile curving slowly onto his lips.

She was stood with her arms crossed, and notably showed revulsion to his comment.

“’Nice’ is _pushing_ it. I’d call it more _pity_ …” She informed him sternly. With, and he was shocked to see this, but there was a semblence of _a smile_ on her lips as she spoke to him.

_Frost was smiling._

“This is you pitying me?”

He asked with raised brows, his eyes meeting hers over the brim of his dainty coffee cup as he sipped down the beverage that was so hot, it made his teeth and his mouth ache. It was _glorious_ to his foggy mind.

“May I enquire as to the occasion?”

He adds, with a satisfied smirk. She watches how his mood lifts from sour to sweet in under three seconds. That old saying was correct, the way to a man’s heart truly was through his stomach.

“For making a man who measures six foot three, sleep on a a sofa that measures five foot two.”

She told with a touch of apology to her eyes as she spoke.

“Your back must be _killing_ you..” She predicts.

“I’m surprised you can muster the energy to have concern for my back..” He informs her.

“I can’t face Lessheart and Crane with a crippled husband…”

She informs him, he took his eyes off the breakfast he was devouring, and noticed she walked to the side table, and slid on the two wedding rings as if they had been there all night long.

“Chew fast. Then get dressed. We arrive in Montenegro in thirty minutes.” She informs him simply.

“I’m afraid I’ll need Jasper Steele in all his suited glory when we get there. I got an email through this morning from Heath on all the players intel. It won’t surprise you to know that Crane has pre-paid eyes and ears everywhere here. Marital matrinomy has to start the _second_ we step foot off this train.” She insists.

Hunter nodded, his smile growing. That irritating smirk that she was unfortunately going to have to stomach without a hint of revulsion in thirty minutes time.

“Aye, aye. _Wifey_.” He winks.

Frost tried not to look as annoyed as she felt at his cockiness. She left him to finish his breakfast come peace offering in solitude and harmony. Then, the real acting would have to begin.

 

~

 

To the best of their abilities, no one could fault them for their conduct. To every onlooker at the train station, they were newlyweds. Smiling in loving joy, Hunter exited the train first, laughing at something lighthearted his wife had said, before extending a hand and letting her slide down in her hefty heels onto the platform beside him, and when she got there, she let herself get swallowed up into the cocoon of his body, his arm slunk low about her back, and she leaned into him, looking the perfect picture of a serene wife who was enamoured madly with her husband.

Atop the white shift dress, she wore a cascading white cashmere trench coat, which flapped at her sides as she walked, her ivory coloured jimmy choo heels tapping away as she did, she held a beige calvin klein clutch bag in her manicured, pale hands. Her big fat tiffny wedding ring caught the light when she moved, aswell as the swarovski earrings which glittered in her lobes, sparkling light across her pale neck and collarbone, just as much as her radiant, brilliantly white smile. Her husband, in all his finery, wore a look that almost matched hers, his jet black hair was pushed back dreamily off his angular face, making his broad cobalt eyes light up as he smiled at his partner. His own coat lapped at his calves. And he wore a dark, dove grey suit, with a black tie and shirt underneath, his rich italian hand finished, and buffed to perfection.

Hunter couldn’t deny, it was very pleasant to have, even _the side_ of her, pressed close into his body. They walked along, and she didn’t resist when he helped her down from the train and tucked her nicely into his side, the pair of them smiling like they were both heavily medicated. He was surprised to find that she folded her own arm to link around his back aswell, even though he towered over her, they both still welcomed the intimacy with effortless ease.

“So…” She smiles angelically.

“When is the first poker game? Is it tonight? Must I amuse myself tonight whilst you gamble our money and the hours away darling?” She asks civilly.

Hunter chuckles at hearing that, reaching over for her spare hand and kissing it, rubbing his thumb over her pale knuckles after he did. Her skin was _so pale,_ he fancied, he could see her _veins_ under her flesh.

 _“Shame on me._ I’d rather know what _you amusing yourself_ looks like…”

He lusted with a husky voice. Leaning closer as they walked, making her bite her lip as he half heartedly nipped at her neck.

"You couldn't _handle_ it." She smirks. 

“You’ll be sad to hear, as per the sake of my _entertaining_ you…” He began, his voice dropping to a sinful octave as he purred enticingly at her.

“…That the game does start tonight. But we get a few hours break inbetween. Enough time to go to dinner, who knows, maybe _even slink_ up to the hotel suite and hang a _‘do not disturb’_ sign on the door..” He suggests intimately.

She tried not to _snap_ his arm off as his hand slid down and cupped her ass in his wide palm. Hunter could see her fighting not to grind her teeth to dust in irritancy at that little flirting move. And he grinned for it. Before she skipped lightly, stumbling a little in her heels to peer a little over both their shoulders.

“Wouldn’t want to _exhaust_ you of _all_ your energy before the big game, now would I?...”

She flirts back, tugging them to a stop, running her hands through the thick silk of his coal coloured hair. Before she tilted her lips up to his, pulling his head close to hers to give him a sweet, powerful kiss.

She could tell her move caught him off guard, he stiffened for a moment, before melting into her embrace. They let disgruntled train passengers shuffle around them as they indulged in a private kiss together like an old black and white movie. Busy life carved on arounf the two of them, entwined, enamoured and in love. She pulled back first, and again, he feels the warmth of her breath roll over his cheeks, and back, he notices, are the dark blue eyes, the shade of a fathomless ocean. He watches as her smile then grows into something alluring and cheeky, and she swerves her head to the side, so he could feel her lips move against his ear as she whispers to him.

 _“300 yards back. That guy’s been tailing us from the second we left the carriage. Black suit, newspaper under his arm…”_ She informs him, but when she pulls back, he has to act as if she had just whispered a dirty little, teasing secret into his ear about just _what_ she would _do_ to exhaust him of all his energy.

“ _Who are you_ , and what have you done with my _well behaved wife,_ you filthy minx.” He winks, informing her that he understood.

“When I have _my man_ , I want _all_ of him.” She awards. “No half measures. You won’t be able to sit at a poker table by the time I’m _finished_ with you for the evening..” She promises.

“That a fact?” He asked with a smile and a sideways twitch of a wry smile.

“I have a coco la mer lingerie set that’ll back me up.” She winks.

His arms settled about her harder as he smiled in amusement, squeezing her close. Before he slung his arm around her and held her close, effectively blending them into the crowd of commuters that tore by around them. The person tailing them was unable to pick them out through the heavily thronging crowds. Frost saw that Hunter smiled, looking remarkably pleased with himself. She shook her head at his smugness. They had come to exit the train station now, making their way across to the chauffeur driven car, a gleaming silver bentley awaited them. Dodging the busy commuters about them, as they got to the car and smiled to their driver, who hopped immediatley to it, to fetch their hefty trunks of luggage from the porters.

Frost was glad to shake off the smile as she slid into the back of the car, Hunter so kindly held the door for her, acting the part of the chivalrous husband before he shut the door and went round the other side to get in. Sliding into the butter soft leather interior, she then crossed her legs and reached for her dior comapct in her clutch. She folded it out and checked her reflection in the small circular mirror, she touched a hand to sweep some stray red hairs off her forehead, she felt Hunter get in the car beside her. She caught his leering reflection in her compact, and henceforth snapped it shut.

“ _What?_ ” She asked with barely restrained temper.

Hunter smirked. She _hated_ it when he smirked.

“You’re a _suprisingly good kisser_ when it suits you..” He remarked.

“My, how _flattering_.” She growls lowly.

“What irks you so badly about me? I can't decide. Is it the handsomeness? The limitless charm? The dazzling smile?” He asks.

“A shorter list would be what about you, _doesn’t_ , irk me.” She insists.

“Then by all means, let’s hear that..”

He smiles, leaning closer, relaxing into the lush leather inerior, so close to her she could smell his intoxicatingly, _nice_ , cologne. And she felt his suited leg brush her bare knee. She was sure he was doing it on purpose, but his voice dropped to that luxurious, _dame taming, woman wooing_ , tone. The one that brought jaguars, gravel and cellos to mind.

She huffed in irritance, knowing he know had her backed into a corner. She didn’t speak for a few seconds as she thought. In this time the driver had loaded their luggage, and pulled the car out of the station, and begun to take that hairpin bends of a small, cosy italian city.

“Your cologne…” She began, after several seconds of silence.

“What about it, sweet thing?” He coo’s.

“It _isn’t almost_ as repulsive as your arrogant, self absorbance…” She offers.

“Trust you to deliver a compliment thinly veiled as an insult.” He smiles.

“You said _list_. What else about me are you madly in love with?” He asks.

She rolled her eyes to the side to glare at him. _She certainly wasn’t in love with his exuberant, overflowing sense of self confidence._

“You drink vodka neat. Just with ice. You don’t ruin it with fruit juice or tonic. You take it as it is. As a Russian I have to respect that..” She gives off tersely. But he sniggers at that.

“Good cologne, and drinking vodka how it should be. Frost. You surprise me.” He grins, turning to look out of his own window.

“Evidently.”

She speaks back. There were a few minutes of silent before Hunter shattered the silence, not contented with watching the Italian countryside passing him by. Nor simply listening to the soundtrack of the rain that had started to spittle down from the grey heavens. It hammered lightly on the car, reminding everyone it was there, impatient to get in.

“Your calves.” He spoke up suddenly.

She frowned, turning to face and enquire.

“ _Excuse me?”_ She asks.

 _"They're_ on my list of things I like about you." He told. 

“You’ve got _truly_ great calves. Couldn’t help but noticing them this morning, matter of fact.”

“I’m amazed you had the capacity. The amount of drink you imbibed yesterday. I imagine your liver was _swimming in it_.” She remarks.

“I _always_ have the capacity to look at a beautiful woman…” He charms, fluttering his lashes at her.

“Out of curiosity, do any of those heinous chat-up lines ever work?”

She asks. But, full well knowing the limited brain cells and capacity of some of his conquests, she can’t imagine it would take much more than mild flattery and a gin and tonic before they swooned to his inhuman charm, persuasion, and smiles.

“Not on _my wife_ , though, ironically enough.” He admits

“It would take a lot more than a fancy suit, a dated chat up line, and a stiff drink to win my fancy.” Frost gave out.

He was about to point out that _‘It hadn’t taken much more than that in singapore with 004, as he understood it’_ but as it was, he bit his lip, and didn’t let the words get out past his teeth.

“What would it take?” He asks.

Frost looked at him for a long second, and tilted her head lightly.

“Something great, I’m certain.” She awarded, in all it’s limited, confining glory.

“All that upkeep and guarding of character must get tiring after a while.” He concludes.

“It comes _naturally_ to me.” She told him, looking at her shoes.

He nods. And before they can say anything else, they realise the car is slowing down and beginning to pull into the front of a historic and extravagent hotel. Where, obviously, lingered a great source of wealth, from the imacculate old fountain out front, framed by a bernini statue, aswell as a host of supercars dotted around the parking spaces outside, the uniformed bellhops buzzed with activity. Clearly a fair few diplomats and powerful people had turned out for this high stakes game. swarms of bodyguards. suits and wealth strode around them. Despite the rain that slanted to soak the city, the hotel looked every bit at high class inside, as the exterior did. the front of the hotel boasted a small courtyard which housed the fountain, but led way to the reception through three arches, elegantly carved masonry on the white marble showed off proudly the history of the old pace. Complete in being resplendent with a scarlet run swirled gold with the hotel's name, The Grand Regis Hotel, and manicured potted hedges, both with not so much as one leaf out of place, stood as resolute twins by the glittering gold revolving door, flagging the entrance.

Frost met Hunter’s eyeline as the car swerved to a stop. Now the pretence couldn’t be dropped, _not even_ for a _second._

Because, now, both their lives depended on it.

~

 

 

 


End file.
